


Sweetness Follows (Part II)

by AuKestrel



Series: Near Wild Heaven [2]
Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Time, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-23 21:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 43,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8343505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuKestrel/pseuds/AuKestrel
Summary: Near Wild Heaven was, almost literally, the first thing I wrote, and certainly the first long thing I ever wrote. (Coming to Terms was the first "short" story I wrote and posted.) I worked on this off and on for over a year and did not write it in any kind of linear fashion. This second part was actually finished first (May 1999), in part because I was stuck on  character motivations in the first part. It's admittedly rough, and could have done with more work, although I did fix a lot of the (popular at the time, I swear!) dialect.As I said in Part I, I'm posting this partly because I had such a great time writing it (in fact, there are still parts of it that make me laugh), because I learned so much by/while writing it, and also because it's sort of "historical": a lot of the tropes in dS fandom did not exist when this was written (hard to believe, but there were only 27 F/K stories on Hexwood when I came into the fandom, and only about 5 of those had any kind of M/M sex!), and I thought it would be fun for other people to see how we earlier writers managed such things as tropes before they were tropes. But, in essence, you are reading a "first novel," with all the alarm bells that ought to ring in your head.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _May 1999. This is part II of a novella entitled Near Wild Heaven. It's over a megabyte in size so it's been separated, with reluctance, into three parts. Part I is Losing My Religion; part II, Sweetness Follows; and part III, Near Wild Heaven. This begins directly after Three Christmases and, naturally, the episode Good for the Soul._
> 
> _This story does - must - take place in an alternate universe. CotW does not take place, at least not as it did on the show, and Fraser has more sense than to live at the Consulate for very long and this time he has found an apartment with a bathroom inside it._
> 
>  **Soundtrack** : R.E.M., the CDs _Out of Time_ and _Automatic for the People_ ("Losing My Religion" and "Near Wild Heaven" in particular) and the song "World Leader Pretend" from _Green_ ; The Cure, "A Night Like This" from _Head on the Door_ , "The Lovecats" from _Japanese Whispers_ , and "Boys Don't Cry" from _Boys Don't Cry_ ; Depeche Mode, "The Sun and the Rainfall" from _A Broken Frame_ , "Get the Balance Right" from _People are People_ , and "World in My Eyes" from _Violator_ ; Style Council, "A Solid Bond in Your Heart," "You're the Best Thing," and "My Ever-Changing Moods" from _Singular Adventures_ ; Bruce Springsteen, "No Surrender" from _Born in the U.S.A._ ; Alanis Morrissette, "Head Over Feet" from _Jagged Little Pill_ ; Bruce Cockburn, "Pacing the Cage" from _The Charity of Night_ ; The Bangles, "Be With You" from _Everything_ ; Thomas Dolby, "Flying North" from _Golden Age of Wireless_ ; ABC, "The Look of Love" and "All of My Heart" from _Lexicon of Love_. It's a long soundtrack. It's a long damn story.

_Readying to bury your father and your mother,_  
_what did you think when you lost another?_  
_I used to wonder why did you bother,_  
_distanced from one, blind to the other?_  
_It's these little things, they can pull you under_  
_Live your life filled with joy and wonder_  
_I always knew this altogether thunder_  
_was lost in our little lives_  
    "Sweetness Follows," R.E.M.

* * *

 

"Benny, _no_!" I yell in frustration as I see the Mountie turn down the alley where the five heavily armed suspects ran a few moments ago. "Benny, I'm not following you! I'm calling for backup! I'm staying right here!"

"Thank you kindly, Ray," Fraser's voice floats back. For once I look straight at Kowalski and we share a glance of mutual frustration and resignation before Kowalski turns and pounds after Fraser's red back. I call for backup before I follow.

Halfway down the alley I see movement on the fire escape. Fraser's taken to the rooftops, his favourite pastime, and Kowalski's right behind him. So the suspects must have headed up there to begin with. Damn. I watch them a minute, trying to get a handle on which way they're going.

Dief barks, once, at me. Hell, it's better than climbing five or six stories to the roof, so I follow him.

There's a warehouse at the end of the alley but Dief doesn't head there; he takes a sharp left instead and we start pounding down another alley. I catch a glimpse of red - honest to God, the Mounties couldn't choose a worse colour to put on a cop if they sat down and thought about it for a week - and realise that at least Fraser and I are heading the same way.

I wonder if Kowalski can jump across rooftops like Fraser. I've met a lot of strange people undercover, people who are pathological in every sense of the word, people who think nothing about risking everyone's life and their own, but I never met anyone who would leap into the teeth of a situation like Fraser, let alone jump across five and six foot gaps five entire stories up without a pause. I grin a little, knowing that hanging with Fraser has helped me overcome, somewhat, my fear of heights, and look up again, trying to see the Mountie or Kowalski.

Dief's about twenty feet ahead of me, where the alley feeds into another, and he's slowed down. Kowalski and Fraser are nowhere in sight. I slow down too, cover the next alley. They're not there. Due to some weird acoustics, I can hear Fraser and Kowalski whispering. They must be crouched down on the roof.

" _Where_?" Kowalski's saying, managing to hiss a word with no 's' in it.

I look around, trying to orient myself. I knew it was going to come to this, and I sigh to myself as I find a fire escape and start up it, quiet as I can. Here goes another suit. There's nothing but silence as I reach the rooftop, but I can see Fraser and Kowalski immediately as soon as I look over the edge. They've switched to sign language, their own peculiar code, since I have trouble catching on to some of it, but I get the part where Fraser's pointing out who's where.

Kowalski nods and jerks his head back towards me, his thumb towards an air conditioning unit. Telling Fraser to go, get down. Fraser just shakes his head, and suddenly makes a zigzag dash in the opposite direction, finding minimal cover behind a tangle of pipes, ducking and rolling as the inevitable gunfire sparks across the roof.

Meanwhile Kowalski, who's looking pretty mad, takes advantage of the diversion to get behind the a/c unit, and I take advantage too, able to get to the shallow cover they were just crouched behind. Looks like the guys are in two places, behind good cover on the far side of the roof. It won't be long before they figure out a way down or before they figure out there's five of them and only two armed cops and one extremely stupid and courageous Mountie who refuses to carry a loaded weapon.

Fraser draws their attention again with another dash to more cover, and he has to dive into the gravel on the roof this time to avoid the gunfire. Ouch. Kowalski's moved up closer, after one frantic glance at Fraser, and I make it to the a/c unit where he just was. Fraser's almost parallel with the roof access now, where two or three of the guys are hiding, and to my horror he begins to edge out on the other side of where he is, trying to get a handle, probably, on who's where, but sticking out his goddamn neck, and, what's more, his bright red Mountie back.

Kowalski, who's got his glasses on all of the sudden, slams his left fist into the wall in utter frustration as he watches Fraser. He can't yell, can't give his position away, but he wants to strangle the Mountie.

I know this because I do too.

More shots and Fraser hastily pulls back, glancing over at Kowalski, holding up three fingers and then putting them together. Meanwhile I see one of them looking around from behind another unit, almost straight ahead of Kowalski, and I hardly have time to get my gun up before Kowalski's fired, taking the guy out in the shoulder.

Whoa. Nice shot.

Fraser gives him a thumbs up. The second guy makes the mistake of coming out from behind cover to pull the first guy in and Kowalski and I both drill him, me in the leg, Kowalski in the arm.

Meanwhile Fraser has taken it into his head to lose his fucking _mind_ , and he dashes over to the roof access. No gunfire follows; the other three are probably on the far side of the access right now, trying to figure out what to do now that their flank is open.

Fraser starts to edge around one corner and at the same moment we see a gun come up and point down the wall towards us. Fraser's gonna step right into a bullet in one more second and I can't see anything but the gun and the sun in my eyes when I hear a shot.

I expect to see Fraser fall, and I'm already up and moving, and I think Kowalski and I yell his name at the same time, but Fraser's still standing, and the dazzle of light where the gun was a second ago was gone. _Really_ tricky shot, something they won't teach in the academy because it can get too many cops killed, and I can suddenly see where Kowalski is a good - an _excellent_ \- partner to have along in a fight.

Fraser's pulled back already and Kowalski and I take advantage of the diversion to hit the gravel next to him, one of us on either side.

"Fraser, you move again, I'll fucking _pop_ you," Kowalski whispers, sounding absolutely furious. "Vecchio!" And he jerks his head around the corner.

I hold up two fingers, then three.

Kowalski holds up three and shrugs.

Fraser holds up two. Even in sign language, he argues.

Oh, well. It's irrelevant. We have to go after them and backup's never gonna find us up here. I go around the back wall and Kowalski ducks around the front wall. This is the worst part. We both of us need a man at our back, with a loaded gun, and there just aren't enough of us to go around. I'm about halfway towards the other end, running as lightly as I can, when I hear the goddamn Mountie's voice ring out.

"Excuse me, gentlemen. I'm Constable Benton Fraser, of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and you are under arrest. Kindly throw down your weapons and step away from the wall."

Holy shit. And I can just _imagine_ the look on Kowalski's face; it's probably madder than mine. I forget sneaky and barrel around the corner in time to see one guy raising his gun, targeted dead center on the Mountie in the middle of the roof. I waste no time plugging him in the right shoulder while Kowalski comes around the other side at the same moment and kicks the gun out of the second guy's hand.

The third guy is sitting up against the wall, holding his hand. He makes no move as I approach. He's not gonna kick up a fuss.

Apparently the guys behind the a/c unit aren't so happy with the situation because despite the fact that we got these three down, one of them leans around the corner and takes a potshot at us, not aimed anywhere in particular, but Fraser jumps backwards so I'm guessing it was headed that way. With a wordless growl of rage and frustration Kowalski pounds across the roof so fast the guy doesn't have time to process what's coming his way.

"You are under _arrest_ , dirtbag," Kowalski yells, grabbing the gun out of his hand. Jesus, he's more insane than the Mountie. "Lay down, hands behind your back! Now! Before I kick you in your fucking head! You too!" he yells at the other guy, who's down for the count, holding his leg and moaning.

"You got the right to remain silent, so shut the _fuck_ up. Anything you say can and will, I guarantee, be used against you in court  _and_ in prison. You got the right to an attorney. If you don't got an attorney - and I'm pretty sure you do - one will be appointed for you. At taxpayer expense, you asshole, you're welcome."

The familiar words roll off my tongue as well, without Kowalski's asides, as I start cuffing the other three. Fraser's walking around collecting firearms carefully, with his handkerchief, depositing them in a pile.

"Do you understand these rights?" Kowalski's finished handcuffing his two. No answer. Kowalski sighs, raises his gun. "Do you understand these rights, _dirtbags_?"

They finally answer him and he glares at them a moment longer before turning, still on an adrenaline high, I can tell, and moving fast to intercept Fraser.

"What the hell was that? What part of 'if you move again I'll fucking pop you' didn't you _get_ , Fraser?" He is white faced and shaking, yelling into Fraser's face.

"But, Ray," Fraser says in a voice I know all too well, "there was no real danger with both of you here. I thought perhaps you would find the distraction useful, as indeed you did."

"Not as useful as _socking_ you right now would be," Kowalski yells, still furious. "You're nuts! You're fucking _nuts_ , you know that?"

"Very nice shooting, Ray," Fraser says, placating him.

"Very stupid walking up to a guy with a gun and grabbing it from him," I say, having to get that off my chest before Kowalski gets any cockier.

Fraser turns and looks at me in surprise. "The clip was empty, Ray."

I look at Kowalski, who is still furious with Fraser, and not quite following either of us."You _counted_ the _rounds_?" Hell, Kowalski  _is_ as crazy as the Mountie. I can't take stunts like that from Fraser, who I expect to pull that crap, let alone a cop who ought to know better.

"Of course," Fraser says, puzzled. "And it _was_ very nice shooting, Ray."

Kowalski groans, turns on his heel and stalks away to the edge of the roof, kicking the gravel. He's spent way too much time partnering the Mountie, that's clear.

I walk over too, manage to catch his eye. "It's amazing what he can do to your blood pressure, innit." Almost an apology, not quite, I know. But the two of 'em are taking more years off my life.

Kowalski snorts, shoots me a glance, and then the anger leaves him almost as rapidly as it entered him. "Yeah," he agrees with a curiously engaging grin.

I have my own words with Fraser as we follow the uniforms back to the cars. "No more of this, Fraser," I say. "I am spending my vacation in Florida this time, _not_ in the hospital. _Not_ on my way to Canada with one of your charity cases."

"Understood, Ray."

"I don't know what the two of you are gonna do without me to look after you," I say. I surprise an odd look on Fraser's face as I look over to see the effects of his words.

"Aw, we'll be sure to leave a few cases for you for when you get back," Kowalski says, coming up on the other side of Fraser. And I'm torn between hatred and relief. Relief that Kowalski is a good cop... and hatred for just about everything else, including his cocky attitude.

I don't understand their relationship. How Fraser can take Kowalski yelling in his face so calmly. How Fraser can work with someone so impatient, so full of energy.

How I can work with someone so different from me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although I write very little in the way of action sequences, I had a great time writing this one, and to this day I still don't know why. I could smell the tarpaper on the roof and feel the grimy fire escape rungs under my hands. I suppose if I were to look at it critically, it was a way to show how they were starting to work together as a unit, and to show the differences between Fraser and Kowalski's working partnership and Fraser and Vecchio's, which - kudos to all concerned - had very different dynamics although both were effective. Also I think it was a way of showing that Kowalski had started to pick up some of Fraser's habits - like counting the rounds - because, seriously, if you're working with Fraser longterm, you've got to adapt or you'll kill him.
> 
> Or be killed by him. I hate to recommend it, because it'll rip your heart right straight out of your fucking chest, but go read Kat Allison's death story, [Executor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/414756), for a more realistic idea of what could happen to Fraser and Kowalski when Fraser pulls this kind of shit. Or not. You'll sob for weeks. Years. Decades. I'm tearing up right now thinking about it.
> 
> (I didn't mean it to be scary but Kat said she was convinced one of them was going to get shot up there. She was, like, "that could have gone SO WRONG... one day they're going to run into someone insane, or, really, someone who doesn't give a shit and will shoot Fraser anyway" = Executor.)
> 
> NWH is _not_ a death story.


	2. Chapter 2

 

I ponder many things while standing guard duty, and since Ray Kowalski's return I have found it almost pleasant, to have hours of time to remember and to mull and to think.

I must confess that I can't wait for Ray Vecchio's vacation. It will give Ray Kowalski and myself some breathing room. And it will take care of our two practical problems, for the nonce. I'm looking so forward to this that I have trouble thinking about other things such as walking, and talking, not to mention my consular duties.

I wish I could think of a reason to ask for time off, partly to avoid Inspector Thatcher's equally sharp eyes, and then scold myself sternly for putting my personal feelings ahead of my duty. At present our moments of love are stolen and careful; being able to let go will be enough of a relief without having the additional indulgence of time off. And after all, Ray Vecchio is leaving after Elaine's wedding. With fortune smiling on us we will have all day Sunday... and all night. And Inspector Thatcher has no reason to suspect that my lover is not a woman.

Ray Vecchio is growing increasingly snappish. He dislikes Ray Kowalski intensely, although I am aware that he accords him a sort of grudging respect for being a good policeman. In addition, Ray Vecchio's manner of dealing with me directly conflicts with Ray Kowalski's peculiar code of protection which seems to go something along these lines: he is allowed to yell at me and tease me all he wants, but no one else is. Ray Vecchio is fond of taking the wind out of my sails, or attempting to, with his cynical comments and he enjoys teasing me. Ray Kowalski doesn't understand that cynicism. He's too straightforward. There have as yet been no words passed between them on the subject, but I think Ray Vecchio's restraint is because he's worried about upsetting me. He has handled me with kid gloves since his return. Guilt, undoubtedly, and worry, possibly. And Ray Kowalski is trying so hard to keep a rein on his temper since returning to the 27th that it is almost humourous.

There are other things that Ray Vecchio is thinking about. Several times since his return he has expressed, in more straightforward ways than usual, his frustration with bureaucracy and even with his job. And I am sure he feels more embittered since Ray Kowalski's return. I have tried to balance my attention equally, but the truth is that Ray Kowalski and I have been working together for over a year and, in addition, our relationship seems to have given us a leg up on our unspoken communication. Although I consciously attempt to include both of them, the fact of the matter is that Ray Kowalski and I are more used to each other, and more in tune with each other, than Ray Vecchio and I are now.

Thoughts of attunement lead me to think about Ray's rage on the rooftop. And it's a peculiar reaction on my part, but despite the fact that he was enraged with me, I feel that he is truly back. He felt comfortable enough, today, to lose his temper with me. It's an odd thing to feel joy in, I realise, but I do nonetheless.

I turn my attention to the problem of Carl Oberst's bachelor party. The curious activities of otherwise mature and theoretically responsible (although I realise that that may be stretching a point when the subject under discussion is Chicago police officers) males in an urban civilisation prior to a wedding have never been of much interest to me, and yet I must make an appearance for form's sake. I am not sure if Ray Kowalski will be there. He is somewhat of a loner. Ordinarily I don't believe he would go, but being on his best behaviour, he will probably put in an appearance so that there is no perceived slight. Police officers can be a touchy lot.


	3. Chapter 3

 

It's pretty much the sort of party I expect, when cops get together to marry off one of their own. And this is two of their own, so it's even worse. Strippers and all. I know Fraser'll love that. I plan to stay long enough to be polite, then disappear. I know Fraser'll have to stay through it all. Politeness, the curse of the Mounties. Poor guy.

Just imagining his blushes takes my breath away.

And speak of the devil, I spot Frase making his way towards me with a full mug. "Er... someone was kind enough to give this to me, Ray, and as you know I don't..."

"Thanks, Fraser," I say, trying not to notice how great he looks. The strippers are gonna be all over him. Ray Vecchio hails him, and he gives me a half-smile before he disappears into the crowd again. I wander around, exchanging hellos and greetings. I find some food, congratulate Oberst, in a brief moment when he's not surrounded by people.

Party's getting louder, more raucous. Sure enough, the strippers appear soon. I lean against the wall, on my third beer, watching 'em with a small grin, thinking my own thoughts about Ben. Whom I don't see anywhere. I'm not surprised. He's been in Chicago for over three years and I'm sure he saw this one coming.

I see a group of guys with one of the strippers, and they're looking at me. Kinda furtive, but I notice it. I don't react but my cop alarm starts going off. So their stripper starts dancing towards me and all at once I know what's up. Some good-humoured fun and maybe not so good-humoured, not after Vecchio's crack about my bracelet.

And I kind of want be sick. 'Cause I was never into strippers anyhow, and that goes double now. Too many people are watching for me to be able to leave. So I just stand there while she comes over to me and starts doing her number around me. Try to play along. Stick some money in her bra and smile at her. Try to look like I'm enjoying watching her. She heats it up, rubs up against me, kisses me briefly. I hear a couple of people shout, "Whoo hoo!"

This is too much. Do they think I'm gonna fuck her, right here? She kisses me again, and her heavy perfume, her makeup, her sweat, goes right to my head and makes it whirl sickeningly. I take an involuntary step back and hear an indrawn breath from the crowd, realise what I'm doing, and pretend I was shifting ground to put down my beer so I can put my arms around her. More whistles and hoots from the crowd, which is growing larger. Thankfully I don't see Fraser or Vecchio. Thank God I don't see Fraser, 'cause I'd probably _be_ sick all over her.

I start to dance along with her, look into her eyes. She's a person. I have to think of that. She's not enjoying this any more than I am. I lean down to whisper in her ear. "I'm sorry," I say. "They'll get tired of it in a minute." She looks up at me again, her heavily made up eyes widening in gratitude, and she smiles, a real smile. I lean in to kiss her on the side of her mouth, and we dance around some more. "They're playing a joke on me," I explain in a further whisper, knowing it'll look like I'm coming on to her. "However much they paid you, I'll give it to you again."

"You don't have to," she whispers back. "Thanks for being so nice." And she reaches up and kisses me again, a real kiss this time. And suddenly I know, a little, how Fraser feels when he's doing Good, and I smile back at her. The crowd starts to thin out, evidently deciding that nothing more interesting than Kowalski dancing with a stripper is going on here. Now the Mountie dancing with a stripper, that would be something. But they know better than to expect that.

We dance a little longer, waltzing around. I ask her name, offer to buy her a beer, and she says sure. So we sit at a table, drinking beers, not saying much, just enough so that people think we're talking. And they leave us alone so I'm thinking I took the wind out of their sails but good, just like I used to in high school. I used to be pretty good at turning the teasing back on the teasers, without them realising it, at least by my senior year. I wonder, again, where Fraser is, and hope that he missed this, 'cause I don't want him to be hurt by it.

"Hey, Lisa," I say to her. "You planning to stay? Or have you made your quota?"

She looks surprised, then nods. "Yeah," she says, "that last bit was all I needed." She's eyeing me, thinking she knows what's coming. Looks a little surprised (I am a cop) but not too surprised (this is Chicago).

"'Cause I'm getting ready to leave, and if you want to use that as an excuse, feel free," I say, knowing that that will not only get her out of here - if she wants to go - but will be the icing on the cake for the 27th. Poor old Kowalski couldn't wait to get back and get laid, even left with a stripper. Hell, they still think I busted a chick for a date. And then I feel ashamed, for a moment, of using her just like they did.

"Thanks. Thanks," she says, slowly at first, and then more eagerly. "I just have to get my coat."

"Please do," I say with a grin. She flashes a happy smile and runs off. I finish my beer, looking into the glass, and thinking. Then I look up, like a string pulling me, and look right across the room at Fraser. I know he saw. And I know he's sad. And angry. And hurt. And probably hating America, or at least Chicago. He's in popsicle mode right now, I can tell by his body language. And there's nothing I can do. She comes back with her coat, looking happy and excited. I hear a few teasing comments as we leave, and I don't look at Fraser again.

I take her home in the GTO. Not surprisingly, it's not the best neighbourhood. In fact, while it's not the zero block of Madison, it's close. She offers me a blowjob. I tell her to get lost before I remember I'm a cop and then I give her a twenty as she gets out of the car. "Thanks," she says again, studying me uncertainly. "Was I - are you-"

"You're real sweet, " I say. "But I'm a cop."

"Oh," she says, thinking she understands. "Thanks again, then. Bye, " and she runs towards her door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lisa was part of a subplot that was ditched; fortunately for me, someone, sadly I forget who (probably LaT or Kellie), was just, like, "No. No more digressions. You don't need her for the story. You've got the counterfeiting ring."


	4. Chapter 4

I am well aware of the capacity of man to exercise inhumanity to man, but when I encounter it so blatantly it is sometimes quite difficult for me to comprehend. I have been accused of seeing the best in everyone, of seeing life in black and white, and have frequently been told it is not so simple.

Tonight, I believe that. Tonight, seeing these otherwise fairly decent people, police officers all, waste their time, energy, and money to embarrass and denigrate, two sentient beings, I temporarily lose all faith in humanity. I go so far as to take a beer from a passing tray. I try to ignore the pain and humiliation that I know Ray must have had to deal with. I will deal with it later. Right now, I must act as if I noticed nothing, and as if my feelings towards these people have not changed, and will not change. But I confess I have never missed the Territories as much as I do at this second.

I realise I would rather face a pack of hungry wolves than these men. The wolves would show more humanity... or perhaps the correct term is lupinity. They understand life with honour, and death with honour. They honour the caribou by culling its herds. And they honour those amongst them who may be sick, or weak, or different. Some they kill, and that death is a mercy. Some they tolerate, for what reason no man knows, but I choose to believe because they see something of value in that wolf, something that the pack would be lessened by in losing.

"Fraser! What's up? You, with a beer? Who's got a camera?" It's Ray Vecchio, more than slightly drunk.

"It's a special occasion, Ray," I say, managing a smile. "Very special."

As if he hears an echo of an unspoken thought from my head, he looks around and says, "Where'd Kowalski go?"

I shrug, not committing myself. "I really couldn't say, Ray."

"I know what that means," he says, laughing. "Hey, Dewey, where'd Kowalski go?" And I see that Ray Vecchio, too, is bent on humiliating Kowalski and, although he doesn't know it, me.

"Oh, man, he left with that stripper," Dewey says as he walks over to join us. "He couldn't keep his hands off her. They talked a while and then left a few minutes ago. Guess she liked the bracelet." He grins at Ray Vecchio and follows the grin with an elbow nudge. Ray looks uncomfortable for a split second, glancing at me, and then grins back at him.

I feel yet another wave of anger, anticipated this time, as well as frustration and helplessness intermingled with pride at Ray Kowalski's quick wits; I am intensely uncomfortable with this conversation and with Ray Vecchio, who has evidently changed much more than I was aware, and so I look out at the room, pretending not to listen. Ray Vecchio probably senses this, because he changes the subject quickly.

We talk in generalities for a few more minutes. Suddenly a silence settles across the room, and we look up from our conversation to see another scantily clad female approaching us. And I hear a hum of laughter. At first I think they are bent on embarrassing Ray Vecchio, but I realise quite quickly that it's me they have set their sights on this time. So I look at Ray, allowing the panic to show in my eyes. I know he will not guess the true reason for the panic - I know that I have no reputation except that as some sort of female magnet at the 27th \- but that he may, if he is not too far gone, take steps to stop it. Before I must.

He does not disappoint me. His protectiveness takes over rapidly. He hands her a twenty, turns her around, and says in a loud voice, "What? What? I'm not allowed to have a conversation with my best friend, here?" There is general laughter, mostly good-natured. They know how Ray Vecchio is. They undoubtedly had bets on whether he would do something just like that to protect the Mountie from the scary urban world.

And it is. Suddenly I am fraught for the second time in less than half an hour with an intense longing for the Territories, for my cabin, for solitude, even for loneliness. "Thank you kindly, Ray," I remember to say.

"Aw, Benny," he says. "You know how cops are, when they get a few in 'em. They were just yanking our chains." He looks at me apologetically, as if he can feel the waves of coldness I am emanating. Yes, I am well aware of how most people treat other people who may be different. Ray Kowalski and I have more in common, it would appear, under the surface, than one might think. And Ray Vecchio, it would appear, has more in common with chain-yanking cops than I wanted to think.

They succeeded admirably, I want to say, but I retain enough sense to bite that comment back. And, sickened with myself as well, deposit my untasted beer on an empty table.

It is 3:30 a.m. before I succeed in getting Ray Vecchio to leave the party. Lieutenant Welsh is kind enough to drive us to Ray's house. He has fallen asleep along the way and rather than attempt to wake him I sling him over my shoulder and carry him to the front door. I am touched to observe that Francesca has been waiting. She hastens to let me in, her finger to her lips. She motions to the stairs, and I carry him up and deposit him, somewhat unceremoniously, I confess, on his bed.

Francesca follows me back downstairs. "You want to sack out on the sofa, Fraser?" she asks worriedly. "How are you going to get home?"

"Thank you, Francesca," I say. "I need a walk."

"Okay, Frase," she says quietly. "Thanks for looking after my idiot brother. Be careful."

"You're welcome, Francesca. I will see you later today. Good night and sleep well."

As I leave, I see Lieutenant Welsh, standing by his car. "I figured you'd try to walk home, Big Red," he says. "Get in."

"That's not necessary, sir-" I begin.

"Get in, Constable. That's an order."

"Understood." I know there is no use in arguing, no way to convince these Americans that solitude and exercise can cure a host of my ills.

He doesn't say much, until we get to my neighborhood. Then he says, almost as if he can't help himself, "Don't judge us too harshly, Constable. You know how cops are. You know what kind of stresses they have."

"Understood, sir," I say again.

"Wish I could be sure of that," he mutters. But I'm too tired to wonder at his unaccustomed emotion.

I wearily climb the stairs to my apartment. Oddly, I can see a light on under the door. And realise with a lift of my heart that I know who it is. And suddenly I feel delight, relief, and a host of other emotions not unmixed with pure desire. Ray Kowalski is stretched out on my bed, asleep, with a book open on his chest. Diefenbaker whimpers as I walk in but doesn't get up. I stand over Ray for a few moments, watching him sleep. I can smell her perfume mixed with Ray's unique spicy scent. I unroll my bedroll, ready myself for bed and then take his book gently from him and put it on the chest. As I reach over him to turn out the light, he opens his eyes and looks up at me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Welsh, in every way, at any time. And I particularly love the dynamic that he, Fraser, and Kowalski have in S3/4. It's intoxicating.


	5. Chapter 5

 

I wake up to see Ben looking down at me, a startled expression on his face, and I smile with pure joy at seeing him. I hold my arms out and with a wordless moan he falls on me. He kisses me as if he can never get enough. He's already mostly naked and soon I am too.

"Missed you, Ben," I mutter. He'll never know how great it feels to have him on top of me, his body pressing me down, covering me, taking care of me, holding me, loving me.

"Shhh," he says. "Don't talk. Just be." And he kisses me again with such urgency, such passion, I know he is trying to take away my pain, and probably his own, from the events of the night. I know it, for sure, when he pulls my right arm up to his mouth and licks my wrist under the bracelet and then kisses me, hard, again. It distracts me for a minute, wondering who told him, what he heard... But then I feel his warm hand slide down between us and encircle us both. It feels indescribable... our cocks straining together, hot against his big warm hand, both of us moving against each other... As he strokes us harder, I cling to him, thrusting into his hand, and he licks and then sucks my neck, moaning with me in the back of his throat. And there are two points of ecstasy on my body, where his hand and his lips are. And then they merge into one.

He reaches up soon after that to turn out the light. And before I drift off to sleep again I hear him apologising for waking me up. Jeez. I cut him off with a mutter. "Love you, Ben. Now go to sleep."

I feel him smile against my neck, and we sleep in each other's arms, mess and all.

Some time before morning Ben's sense of preservation reared its head. When I wake again, it's light out, and I'm alone in Ben's bed, covered up. He's asleep on his bedroll, dressed again. No doubt Vecchio'll be here soon to observe everything. And then I remember Ben's love bite. And panic. And then I remember I went home with the stripper, and relax again. I look at the clock and can't make sense of the time at first. Nine o'clock? I have never, but never, known Ben to sleep this late. _Ever_.

I don't know whether to feel worried or complimented.

I get up as quietly as I can, get dressed, make the bed, Ben's bed, which I never do at my own place, my hands lingering over the Hudson blanket. I feed Dief, also as quiet as I can. I'm bringing him back from his walk when I see Vecchio pull up in his Riv. He's not happy to see me, of course, and looks pretty hung over to boot. I know he wants to ask what I'm doing here. I don't give him a chance.

"Fraser's still asleep," I say before he can say anything.

He looks at his watch, looks at me, and looks at his watch again. "You're kidding," he says, serious, as we climb the stairs.

"Yeah," I say. "I fed Dief and walked him. What time did you all finish up, anyhow?"

"I'm not real sure," Vecchio says, a little shamefaced. He's too taken up with that to worry, for the moment, what I'm doing here, and when we go into Ben's apartment and he sees Ben on the bedroll, sacked out, fully dressed, he won't give it another thought.

"Must've been some party."

"Yeah, it was. I see you had fun," and he raises one of those sardonic eyebrows at me, which I take to mean he's noticed the hickey.

"Yeah," I say, smiling at the memory, knowing he'll misinterpret that smile.

Ben's still asleep when we get to his apartment and I see Vecchio relaxing as he takes in the picture. I can't wait for him to just go, get out of here, on his vacation. I hate this. Hate his suspicions, if that's what they are. Hate his jealousy. Hate the fact that I can't even go put some water on for tea for Ben without Vecchio noticing it.

Dief runs over and licks Ben all over the face. "Diefenbaker! All right, all right!" Fraser sounds almost angry. Then he sits up, notices the light in the sky - and I know he knows, without even looking at a clock, that he's slept very late - and then sees us. "Good God, how late is it?'' he asks, startled.

"It's only ten o'clock, Benny. I was gonna get some coffee and doughnuts but I bet Mother Hen here'll say you need something more substantial."

"Oh. I see. Well, I'll start with tea. Would you like me to put some coffee on for you?" he asks, getting to his feet and heading to the sink.

"Not for me, thanks," I say. "I'm out of here. Fed Dief and walked him. See you later." I know he's telling me not to go but I ignore it. I can't deal with Vecchio right now. I just want to talk to Fraser. "Later, Vecchio."

"Yeah, later, Kowalski," Vecchio says, sitting down at the table. "Yeah, I'll take some coffee, Benny. Extra strong."

"Thank you, Ray," Fraser calls after me.


	6. Chapter 6

 

I sit at the table, with a not-quite-headache in my skull, feeling dull and heavy, no doubt a physical side effect of too much sleep, hating Ray Vecchio for a moment or at least wishing him to the ends of the earth so that I can have ten, even five, minutes alone with Ray. We had no chance to talk last night and although I had intended to remain in control, something in his smile went straight to my heart and all thought, all reason, flew out of my head. I can derive comfort only from the fact that I awakened long enough to realise that Ray and I were in a rather compromising position and was able to rearrange the apartment. This is dangerous. I must try harder. I'm relieved that I won't have to try, after tonight, for two weeks.

Abruptly I get up to fix some eggs for us.

"Something wrong, Benny?" Ray asks. "You mad at me?"

I often forget how perceptive he can be. And of course there's no way to bring up the real reason for my displeasure.

"Why would you think that, Ray? I think I'm unaccustomed to sleeping so late," I respond, glad that my back is to him.

"Yeah, Kowalski seemed pretty worried about you. Guess he thought I got you drunk. And heck, you're not even the one who went home with the stripper." He chuckles. I smile inwardly, remembering last night in my bed, and suddenly feel better.

The atmosphere has changed; we eat our eggs accompanied by desultory, good-natured small talk.

"Elaine married," he says, shaking his head. "And Carl. Hell. I thought Carl was a bachelor for life. Whaddaya think, Benny, is love enough?"

I am startled beyond all reason for a moment; this question is so _apropros_ to the current situation that I can't think.

"Yes. No."

"That's real clear, Benny." But he looks uncomfortable now, and I know that he's thinking of Victoria, of the eternal shadow she cast between us because of my foolish and weak inability to control myself, my conviction that my love and trust were returned, my naïve belief that love was enough.

And then I remember Ray, his quick flashing grin, his energy, his unparalleled ability to put almost anything in perspective in a pithy phrase accompanied, usually, by a sudden movement of his hands, and I feel my lips stretch in an involuntary smile.

"It has to be, at least from an existential perspective, Ray. Otherwise no one would attempt to attain the impossible, and in that attempt discover more about the mystery of love.

"Benny. Can I translate that? It's better to have loved and lost? Is that what you're telling me? Is this more of your father's advice? Because I don't think it's nearly as helpful as 'don't follow someone off a cliff.'"

I look at him solemnly. "How about this, Ray: every journey begins with a single step."

He looks back at me and shakes his head and suddenly we're both laughing. It feels good. And though I miss my Ray, Ray Vecchio and I have a pleasant morning after all. Finally he tells me that he needs to pick up his tuxedo. I myself have ironing and polishing to do, I say, and we agree to meet at Ray's house at four o'clock.


	7. Chapter 7

 

I go home, grab a shower, change. Then I do a load of laundry. Feeling pretty restless and I know that what I really need is to see Fraser. There were things left unsaid; he's tearing himself up inside over the stripper last night. I even try to put music on, to dance, but I can't. Don't need to. I just... need to see Fraser.

I raise my hand to knock at his door and I hear him playing the guitar. He's practising the song for the wedding, I realise, and I stop to listen. He's singing softly, just keeping up with the guitar, sounds pretty content. Maybe I should just leave him...

And then I hear Dief make one of those wolfish kind of grumbles he makes. So he knows I'm there. I knock, wishing Vecchio would learn to do the same, and hear him call, "Come in, Ray," and try not to think about how he knew it was me. I didn't know I was so predictable. He's sitting cross-legged on the floor with Elaine's guitar, a welcoming smile on his face, surrounded by Mountie boots, shoe polish, brass polish, some kind of oil, and various brushes. His ironing board is set up. I suddenly realise that of course he's wearing his uniform to the wedding.

"I was hoping that you'd come back," he says simply, which makes me feel not quite so stupid.

"Yeah, but you're busy, Frase," I say awkwardly. "Forgot you'd have stuff to do."

"Perhaps it's time you learned the proper care and feeding of a Mountie's uniform," he says with a smile, motioning towards the can of brass polish. I lean down to kiss him, can't help myself.

"I'm still working on the proper care and feeding of the Mountie," I say with a wicked grin.

"I think you have that figured out," he says huskily, and I almost can't look in his eyes, they're so bright with love and happiness and stuff like that.

"I think I need lots more practise," I say, and sit down next to him. "Okay, show me what this stuff does. I can polish boots, you know, Frase." He looks at my scuffed boots and then at his perfect boots and then back again. "Not that those boots seem to need it."

That gets him, I knew it would, and he sets the guitar aside to show me exactly how dull and awful his boots look right now and how they'll look in a few minutes.

Eventually he lets me work on his boots, now that I understand that the polish has to be applied in a clockwise, circular fashion and never raising the grain of the leather (the what?), and he goes to work on his brass buttons. Which I just realise he's taken _off_ the uniform, and will have to sew back on.

"You're _nuts_! What did you do that for?"

He looks surprised. "Well, you have to polish the entire button, Ray," he points out.

"Fraser, who's ever going to see the underside of a button?" I say. "And now you've got to sew 'em all back on."

"I like to," he says simply, and I get a whiff of what it means to him to be a Mountie. I duck my head, 'cause I don't understand it. But I like it.

I work on his boots and watch him press his red coat. Then he sews the buttons on, quicker than I would have thought possible, and I realise he does it a lot. Then he presses the coat again even though I couldn't see any difference. Then the pants. He finally hangs it next to the other uniform, which looks identical to my inexperienced eye, with a satisfied sigh. "I had hoped to do both this morning but I won't have time," he says, shaking his head.

I can't help laughing. "If I mixed those up, Frase, you couldn't even tell the difference." 

"Yes, I could, Ray." And he smiles back at me before sitting down with me on the floor to begin polishing his Sam Browne belt with the oil. And he begins to tell me why it's called that, and I think maybe paradise on earth _is_ possible after all.

We finish up the boots, him showing me how to get the highest possible gloss. I practice while he picks the guitar up again, fiddling with songs. He starts to play the one he played at the rehearsal - the one Vecchio sang with him - something about riding forever and blue Alberta skies. He's not really singing, just a few words from time to time, and I'm enjoying listening. And it seems so natural, and I'm so happy, that I reach out and kiss him all at once. He stills the strings of the guitar with the flat of his hand and closes his eyes as we kiss again. I feel his response somewhere inside me.

"Sorry, Fraser," I say, sitting back. "Didn't mean to... you have to get ready. Get a shower."

"I know," he says, and I can tell he's getting himself back under control.

"A cold one," I add with a wicked grin. He looks surprised.

"Of course," he says matter-of-factly.

We're quiet for a moment. He puts the guitar back in its case. He doesn't look at me as he says, "About last night..."

Oh, no. I forgot about it for a while. I should have known he wouldn't.

"Have I mentioned how well I thought you handled it?" he says.

"Huh? Oh, hey, she was a nice kid." But I can't help the glow of pride I feel at his words. One look at his face, and that thought goes flying. "I'm sorry, Frase. I hoped you'd missed it. I knew it would upset you."

"Didn't it upset you?" he asks quietly, and I can tell by his voice that he's hurting again.

"Jeez, Frase, you know how cops are. I sure as hell do." I try to keep it light.

"I know," he says after a minute, in a dead voice. "Sometimes I find wolves preferable. I am missing Canada today, Ray."

What the hell does that mean?

"Fraser, I should've expected something like that. They'd've done that to anyone. It wasn't personal." It probably was, kind of, since Vecchio made that crack about my bracelet, but no point in going there. It's over, it's done.

"I'm not entirely sure that makes it better, Ray," he says, still in that remote voice. "That is possibly even worse." And then he adds, in a low, sad voice that strikes terror in my heart, "Perhaps this was indeed a mistake."

No! No! I grab him by the shoulders, make him look at me. "Ben, don't! Don't say that! How can it be? How can the way I feel -you feel - be a mistake? We're not hurting anybody!"

I just got him back. I can't go through this again. I think it would kill me.

He searches my face for a moment. "But the possibility of someone being hurt - that is to say, you - is a very real one," he says slowly.

I should have known. Should have known the responsibility would kick in any time now. "First of all, Fraser, I don't think so. Second of all, I already told you, _I don't care_. You're worth it."

"Then I have to care for you," he says, getting to his feet. I stand up too.

"Yeah, but you can't make my choices for me," I say. "And this one's already made." I lean over to kiss him lightly. "So there."

That finally gets a tiny smile out of him. He kisses me back, also lightly, his hand moving down my arm to slide a finger under my bracelet, before turning and saying, "I'd better get my shower now."

He comes out in a few minutes, towel around his waist, hair damp and standing up where he towelled it off. I've finished the boots and I hold them up for inspection. "Thank you kindly, Ray," he says as he puts them on his bed. He goes to his closet and begins taking clothes out. Our eyes lock across the room. I know he knows what I'm thinking. God, he's so beautiful he takes my breath away. So I take a deep breath and scoot closer to Dief, patting him on the shoulder. I swallow hard and say, without looking at him, "You need a ride, Fraser?"

He stops in the middle of pulling on his undershirt. "I thought you were coming to the wedding, Ray."

"Nah, but I can drop you there," I say.

"Ah."

I risk a glance at him. Big mistake. He's only got his boxers and undershirt on and he's sitting down to pull on his socks. I gulp, and look away again, try to make a joke. "Don't think I ever wanted Stella as much as I want you. What, do you Mounties get standard issue pheromones plus extra or something?"

"Not that I'm aware of," he answers me, almost absently, and I know he's thinking about why I don't want to go to the wedding.

"There's no reason," I say quietly, trying to get that frown off his face. "I'm not upset. And it's not like Elaine and I are buddies. It's not like you and Vecchio. I just want to be alone." Thinking of you. Away from cops, for a while.

His face lightens. He understands 'alone.' "I don't blame you, Ray," he says earnestly. He's pulling on his pants now, pulling up his braces. He sits, again, to put his boots on. "I have been thinking... I believe I am going to ask for some vacation time on Monday. After Ray Vecchio gets back, of course. I need to go to my cabin, to be alone too. Away from people."

I try not to hurt. I try to breathe. My chest hurts. He's told me that's what he needs, sometimes.

"And you've never seen it," he continues. "But I hope... I'm not sure... do you have any vacation time?"

And I still can't breathe. I look at him. I don't know what he sees in my eyes. But I can see what's in his. "Yeah," I say. "I got plenty."

"There's no running water," he warns me. "And even in a month there will still be snow."

"Will you be there?" I ask, grinning. And love him, love the way he grins back.

"Always," he says, and it almost sounds like a vow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fraser. Guitar. I already said, right? Don't worry, it gets worse... songfic incoming!


	8. Chapter 8

 

I don't reenter the reception hall with the rest of the party after seeing Elaine and Carl off. I need to be alone. I need to think; and I'm looking forward to a brisk walk. I must think sensibly, clearly, but my love for Ray is like a drug. But I felt this way before, with Victoria, and made a terrible mess. I must ensure that does not happen again.

On the other side of my brain is the vision of Ray in my cabin. My two homes, in one place. My chest feels tight.

I look around and see Lieutenant Welsh watching me. "Need a ride?" he asks quietly.

"No, thank you, sir. I am very much looking forward to my walk home," I say as firmly as I can and still be polite.

He studies me a moment longer. "You've been looking run down, lately, Constable. Not my business, but I think you might want to consider asking for some time off."

"Thank you, sir. In fact, I've already decided to do so. Not until Ray returns, naturally."

"Naturally," he agrees.

"And of course it depends on Inspector Thatcher's schedule." I realise I'm beginning to babble. I'm unaccustomedly nervous. I think he knows, yet I don't know why I think that. And don't understand how he can, what I've done to give myself away.

He must see something in my eyes. He takes a step closer to me and says, quite quietly, "Not all cops are alike, Constable. Some of us believe that people deserve to be happy. That's all."

"I - I too believe that, sir," I say, trying to remain collected. "Unless, that is, it's a question of duty..."

"Constable, your personal life is your own. Not my business. Not Thatcher's. You just remember what's important. And tell Kowalski he needs some time off too, whenever the Consulate can spare you."

I'm stunned - and panicked.

"Constable," he says, and then stops. He heaves a sigh, then starts again. "Fraser. You're a man with a lot of sense. If anyone can pull this off, you can. And if you can't it's not the end of the world. Take him to Canada and be happy there."

"If he would be," I say, and then stop abruptly, horrified at my admission.

He sighs again. "It's not as if you'll be assigned here for the rest of your life, you know. The Mounties'll forgive you eventually. I'm assuming. I realise you have trouble trusting people. With good reason, I think. And ordinarily I would just keep my nose out of your business. But you're alone, Fraser. I'm trying to tell you what I think, what I hope, your father or mother might have told you. We don't get many chances at happiness. You've got a better chance than you had with that Metcalf nut case. That's all. Understood?"

"Un-understood, sir," I manage to say, as he turns and walks away.

I begin to walk home, my head spinning, my heart filled with hope, desperation, and confusion. How did he guess? How could he guess, and not Ray Vecchio? Am I deceiving myself? Us? _Anyone_?

My common sense then reasserts itself: I know no one has guessed, except, for some reason, the lieutenant.

I hardly notice the walk, but I have calmed down considerably by the time I reach my apartment. And again I see a light under the door. This time Ray's awake. The remains of a pizza are on the table and he's lying on my bed, Diefenbaker stretched beside him, reading again.

"Hey, Frase. Y'know, you need a TV, man," he says with a mischievous grin. Next to my knapsack, I see his battered Army surplus backpack and I know that without being asked he has read my mind; he is settling in for the next two weeks. I'm so grateful, and glad, that I can't move. I just look at him, my fingers automatically unbuttoning my uniform. He looks back at me, his eyes shining.

"We safe?" he asks, in his peculiarly husky voice.

"Yes, I believe so." I walk over to sit on the bed beside him after hanging my tunic on the back of a kitchen chair. I hesitate. He senses my concern and a shadow crosses his face.

"I've just had a conversation with Lieutenant Welsh," I say finally.

"Yeah?" he says, studying my face.

"I think he knows. That is, I think he guessed. Now he knows."

I cannot prevent my head from dropping slightly, not wanting to see Ray's eyes; but before I can say any more, he says casually, "Yeah, it figures."

I can't speak.

He looks over at me, forcing my eyes to meet his. "Welsh is a good man, Fraser. I don't think he'll take it out on me."

"No," I say, "I know he won't. He told me to tell you that you need time off too. After he told me, that is, that I need time off. To go to Canada."

Ray's eyes widen in surprise. He begins to laugh. "Well, who would've thought?" he says. "He's a romantic, huh, Ben."

"Yes, Ray," I say, smiling slowly. "Yes, I think he is."

We share a long kiss but Ray breaks it off too soon.

"Hey, Frase. I... I kind of got you something."

He's embarrassed. He avoids my eye as he reaches down to the other side of the bed. As he hands it to me, he mutters, "I didn't think... I don't think you have one. I don't know anything about them but one of my friends told me about this one in that pawn shop down near... well, anyhow. It's a Martin. He said that was cool."

He hands me a guitar case.

"Oh, _Ray_..."

"If it's not..."

"Ray, it's... perfect." And, ridiculously, I feel my throat swelling with emotion. How did he know? Giving Elaine her guitar back was a wrench. "I had one, yes, but it was destroyed when my father's cabin burned." I can't keep my hands off it, tuning it automatically, revelling in the smell and the feel of it, in the look of the dark red wood. "And, yes, a Martin is very, ah, 'cool.'"

Ray has relaxed, embarrassment at an end. He's grinning now. "What it really was, Fraser, is that you look so damn hot holding a guitar, you know that?"

"Ulterior motives. I should have known."

"Oh, yeah. You do. You do, you know."

"Ray, thank you."

"Shit, Ben, don't get all serious and-and... just don't. I-I've been thinking about it, is all, and it all kind of... came together. I'm glad it's okay. I mean, that it's an okay guitar."

"Ray, I can't not be serious. Thank you. I love it. And you."

"Fraser, I told you..."

I capture his chin in one hand and make him meet my eyes. "Thank you, Ray. It's not just the guitar. It's that you thought of it, of me. This is only the second present I've ever had that wasn't books or clothes."

He swallows once or twice and says, rather thickly, "So go on, give it a spin."

"I'd rather kiss you."

"Nuh uh, Frase. You want to thank me, give it a spin. I love to watch you play."

Two kinds of passion war for a moment, but I already know that I'll give in to the musical one, for the nonce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm too busy laughing at myself right now, you understand. No, not at Welsh, whom I love - and it's kind of awesome that he and Fraser have this connection (Dr. Longball, anyone?) - but at the next chapter. Feel free to skip it.
> 
> (Of course Welsh guessed. I don't think he misses much.)


	9. Chapter 9

Oh, God. He liked it. I'm finally getting something right. He's been kind of tuning it on autopilot even while he was thanking me. I like watching him do that, the serious look on his face, the half-closed eyes, because sight distracts from sound.

He fingers the strings experimentally, a not-quite-smile on his face. It's more a look of disbelief, of still and deep delight that a smile wouldn't come close to expressing. "Any requests?"

"You know _Stairway to Heaven_?"

He holds my eyes with his own and picks out the first few notes.

"I should've known."

He grins, then, and says, "No, I don't. Not really."

"Good. Because if you did, that would've kind of scared me."

"Unfortunately my repertoire is mainly what you'd call folk music."

"I don't get the 'un' part, but whatever, Ben. What about that thing you did at the rehearsal? The blue Alberta skies thing?"

He grins and blushes. "I admit to a particular fondness for that one."

"So what are you waiting for?"

He turns to sit sideways on the bed, bringing one knee up, and plays a few more notes, just messing, while he gets comfortable. I pull his pillow up behind me and lean back against the wall. He runs through the chorus first, without singing. I put my hands behind my head and think about his fingers. About the Mounties. About the fact that no one's ever given Ben presents. Damn. Stella and me... well, even in the first few years when money was so tight, we saw something, even a couple bucks, we'd surprise each other with it. One time it was just red foil wrapped candy hearts. She almost cried.

Come to think of it, no one gave Stella a whole lot of presents either. Things, yeah, cars, jewelry, her parents never blinked an eye. But stuff she liked, wanted, was interested in, no, not much of that... and she was pretty good at reading me too. Spent a week's pizza budget once on PJ O'Rourke's latest in hardcover and we ate grilled cheese instead.

I wait for the pain to hit, now, after the memory... and it doesn't. The memory's good. And that's all. Thanks to Fraser. Intangible, but, yeah, a present too.

He's starting to lose himself in the music, lose his self-consciousness, as he sings a few words here and there like he did when we were working on his uniform. Singing more sentences now, a little louder, messes up a chord or two but keeps going, that's pretty cute to see him mess up and not get freaked out.

 _Cute_. Christ. I'm, like, a Mountie groupie.

He's in the last verse now, I got the chorus down already.

"Run like stink?" I say as he flattens his palm over the strings.

He grins. "I'll have to get you a Canadian dictionary. Ray, it has excellent tone."

"So do you."

We look at each other for a long moment, our smiles slowly fading.

"Any more... requests?"

"Uh... think you could fit a kiss in there somewhere?" I lean forward. He does too, and our lips meet somewhere over the guitar. "Yeah," I whisper. "You, a guitar, a bed. It doesn't get much better, you know, Ben?"

"I know," he whispers back, and then licks my lips with his tongue before plunging it into my mouth, not gentle at all now, hard, hot, demanding, and I feel the guitar push into my ribs as his right hand goes around my back to pull me closer.

"Jeez, Ben, you're gonna squash your guitar," I say finally, pulling back a little. "Come on, let's hear more."

"I don't know whether to feel offended or flattered," he says. "You'd rather listen than kiss?"

"Well, see, Fraser, the thing is I'm learning patience. We've got two whole weeks. We can do both."

"Both..." he echoes, and then smiles, and then pivots, leans back against the wall, making me move down the bed a little, one booted leg on the Hudson blanket, as he starts an unfamiliar song.

"Mind if I, uh, help you lose the boots?"

"Feel free, Ray."

I untie the laces at the top and start loosening them all the way down the boot as he starts singing again.

" _Sunset is an angel weeping  
__Holding out a bloody sword_..."

Okay, he's no Pavarotti, but I could listen to him forever. I think he's got the most beautiful voice I've ever heard. And the fucking song... Jesus... where does he come up with these?

 _"I've proven who I am so many times_  
_The magnetic strip's worn thin_  
_And each time I was someone else_  
_And everyone was taken in."_

I'm trying not to read too much into this. It's just a song, Kowalski. But yeah... seems like all Ben does is prove himself, to everyone, over and over, and no one really knows him. They all see what they want to see and he doesn't know if what he is inside is enough for everyone else to be satisfied with.

There's one boot done, and I hang over the side of the bed to start working on the other boot.

 _"I never knew what you all wanted_  
_So I gave you everything."_

This is getting freaky. Yeah, that's Ben. Always giving, never sure if it's enough. It never has been enough... wasn't enough for Victoria, wasn't enough for Vecchio, wasn't enough for the Mounties, maybe even wasn't enough for his dad.

It's enough for me. Enough for us. It's got to be.

He misses a note or two when I tap him on the knee, a signal to raise his foot so I can pull.

 _"Sometimes the best map will not guide you_  
_You can't see what's round the bend..."_

No shit. Bet he never thought we'd be here. I know I never thought we'd be here in the first place. I turned a corner... took a bus... went two blocks... through a door... and ended up here. _Do you find me attractive?_ ...and he did.

Where are we going to be next week? Next month? Next year? Scary thoughts. Too scary. I'll think about those later.

_"Sometimes the road leads through dark places..."_

Yeah, Ben, but I'll be with you on that road. You're not alone any more.

_"Sometimes the darkness is your friend."_

I got a hot feeling in the back of my eyes and my throat's tight. I bury my face in the scratchy wool covering his calf.

 _"Today these eyes scan bleached out land_  
_For the coming of the outbound stage_  
_Pacing the cage."_

He plays a few more notes and then I feel his hand in my hair. "Ray?" he says softly.

"That's... that's good, Ben, what... what is that?"

"A Canadian. Bruce Cockburn. Why are you upset?"

"For you, Ben. Alone. Just... stupid, okay?"

"I'm not alone now. We're not alone, Ray."

"Yeah. I know. I said it was stupid, okay?"

"Ray. Come here."

"No. No, it's okay. Play some more."

"I'm not sure I should."

Finally raise my head, look him straight in the eye. "I loved it. I love hearing you. Play some more, damn it."

His hand on mine pulls me, firm, gentle, up to him. Long kiss, not passionate, just sweet. I move my mouth down to kiss his neck and rest my head there for a second, his hand still moving in my hair. "Here, Frase, got an idea. Lean up." I push him forward, climb between him and the wall, put the pillow at my back, pull him up against me, Ray body pillow. "There. Let me hold you. Play. Will this work?"

He twists to look at me, a quivery kind of smile on the corner of his mouth. "Ray..."

"I take it that's a yes." And it's a big old yes for me, because I got both arms around him, I can feel him breathing, smell him, I can even lean forward and lick the back of his neck, rub my nose in his soft soft hair.

"Ray, that's rather... distracting."

"Sorry, Frase."

"You don't sound very sorry."

"Well, I'm not really. I'll be good though."

"You're always good, Ray."

"Heh heh." Lean my head back against the wall, loosen my arms, rub my thumbs against his ribcage a little. He makes a murmur kinda sound as he fiddles with the tuning pegs again. It sounded fine to me. That's probably the Fraser guitar equivalent of thumb to eyebrow. We shift our hips a little together, getting comfortable, and I close my eyes as he starts playing again, another unfamiliar tune, another beautiful tune. I like holding him like this, feeling his whole body relax into the music, the involuntary muscle tension when he hits a difficult chord or maybe not difficult, maybe just one he's not sure he quite remembers. Feels good. It feels close to perfect. I put my head back against the wall and smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songfic was a _big_ thing in dS fandom, back in the day. In part that's because it was _canonical_ : e.g., Paul Haggis' Gift of the Wheelman; Victoria's Secret. And it's not like Paul Gross didn't continue the tradition with Mountie on the Bounty (the overachiever had to, you know, write his own song, of course*) and Hunting Season (IIRC, he went back to classic Sarah MacLachlan for that one).
> 
> I'd also say, thinking back, that part of dS F/K fandom in general around this time revolved around music and story soundtracks. I remember people - not just me! - holding off on posting stories because they hadn't gotten the soundtracks just right. We exchanged more than just fun and fantastic stories; we introduced each other to new (or old) music, either explicitly via soundtracks or via fandom osmosis. This was helped in part by the existence of Napster. It was often the only, or at least the best, way to get some of the rarer music. While you were online, downloading, you were connected to the person you were downloading from; I remember chatting with a guy in BC more than once because he had a ton of Stan Rogers. He had not seen due South but decided to rectify that after hearing about the musical choices the show made.
> 
> *Yes, I _know_ why Paul Gross wrote 32 Down. Please don't make the mistake of explaining it to me the way a very drunk person once did at a con during an MotB showing. Apparently the look of shock and horror on my face was burned into my friends' retinas for years.


	10. Chapter 10

 

I'm almost asleep, and I'm pretty sure Ben thinks I am, because he stiffens suddenly and then carefully gets out of bed, trying not to wake me, and goes to the window. And to my utter amazement, I hear him talking. I snap back to consciousness in a hurry, trying to listen. I know he's practically certifiable. I mean, I know he thinks Dief really understands him. And I've seen him carry on some pretty weird conversations with Dief. But Dief's under the bed and there's no one by the window. And then I think I hear him say, "Dad." I get a cold shiver up my spine. Is Ben really nuts? Holy shit. He's talking, and waiting for responses, like there's someone there I can't see.

"Frase? Who you talking to?"

Now he's quiet, standing stiffly by the window for a moment. He mutters something but all I hear is "...lies."

So I say again, "Who you talking to? There's nobody there." I'm a little spooked.

"Well, yes, there is. Or was." Fraser walks over to the bed and sits down, rubbing his eyes with his hand in a familiar, weary gesture. "I'm never quite certain which verb tense to use..."

"Who's there, Fraser?"

"Actually-" he hesitates, then says firmly, "-my father, Ray."

"Your father's dead, Fraser," I say carefully. Maybe the incredible sex has unhinged his brain. I mean, he's kept himself bottled up for, what, years? Maybe it's dangerous to have it so good. "'Member? You came to Chicago on the trail of his killers? Sound familiar?"

"Yes, I am aware of that, Ray." He sighs. "Unfortunately, being dead has not, to date, prevented him from putting in appearances in my life, usually at the worst possible moments."

"You mean he warns you of danger and stuff?" I ask, trying to get a grip. He sounds so serious. But he's got to be putting me on. Or else he's crazy.

"No, because that would be _helpful_." Fraser sounds exasperated, almost sarcastic. "Generally it's just pointless chatter. And annoying advice." He pitches his voice louder, as if he thinks someone else is listening and he wants him to overhear.

I pull the scratchy blanket up around my chest. "I see. Um, can anyone else see him?"

"Oh, Maggie, of course," Fraser says matter-of-factly. "And Sergeant Frobisher. I don't know why, but he can. Partners, I supposed. Possibly Gerrard as well, although my father never cleared that point up for me. He rarely answers any questions, you know. "

Yeah, I know, Frase. Sounds familiar. Then the rest of what he said hits me.

"Maggie?" Now I'm freaking. Maggie seemed pretty levelheaded. Whacked out, like Fraser, but levelheaded. Of course, I only have his word for it. But I don't think there'd be much point in lying about something like this. I try again.

"Do you... do you see him often?"

"Of late, no." Fraser sounds incomprehensibly cool with this. "This is the first time, really, in months. He says he's been busy."

"Uh, Fraser, he's dead," I can't help pointing out. "How busy can he be?"

"Exactly my point," Fraser says, again pitching his voice louder. "See, Dad? Now if you'd said you were at the cabin, fixing it up, I could understand how you could lose track of time. If you have time, where you are." He looks back at the window, listens a moment, then shrugs.

"Now if I'd said that," he says to thin air, "you'd blink out in a huff. Of course I know you can't really fix up the cabin. You're dead. But that didn't stop you from building an office in my closet at the consulate, did it?"

He... thinks his dad has an office in his closet at the consulate. If he really does think that, it explains a hell of a lot. I don't know how many times I've caught him talking to himself in that closet.

He listens again, gets to his feet, walks back to the window. My heart is pounding. My throat is dry. I can't move. Can't think. Either Fraser's really, really crazy, or I am. And to prove that I am, I squint at the window to see if I can see what he sees.

"Yes, you do," he's saying now. "You quite often leave in huffs. There's no point in denying something we both know happens."

There's a really long silence. "Is there a point, Dad?" Sounds like Fraser and me when he gets going on his Inuit stories. Maybe his dad's telling him one.

"Okay, Frase," I manage to say, forcing the words through my dry lips, "quit it. Not funny."

"There, now see what you've done," he snaps - Fraser snapping, can't take that in - at the window. He turns his back and stalks into the kitchen. I hear water running. "I'm not leaving in a huff, I'm getting some tea, " he calls. Another pause. "Feel free, Dad, but you're dead. You can't drink tea." He comes back in the room and looks soberly at me. I can't speak. Dief slides out from under the bed, feeling something in the atmosphere. He whines at Fraser.

"Ray," Fraser says, kneeling in front of me, his eyes worried, "I'm sorry. I'm not insane. I wish you could see him." And says to the air, in that same snappish voice, "It's a miracle I'm not insane, Dad." Dief follows Fraser's glance and stares with him at the same point.

Suddenly I wish I could see him. And think that's a perfect example of Fraser's crazy world, that I actually want to see a ghost, which I don't believe in for a minute, just so Fraser feels better. And with that thought I look up, past Fraser, to see a shimmer in the air. The shimmer moves and it seems to be in the right place for Fraser to be talking to. I can't hear anything or make out anything more. I fall back on the bed, close my eyes, and think _this is not happening!_ I've followed him into some pretty crazy places. But this... no way.

I open my eyes again. The shimmer is still there. Fraser is still talking to the shimmer.

"What's he saying now?" I ask. I can't help myself. Dief makes a noise between a snort and a grunt and flops down on the floor, still looking from Fraser to me to the shimmer.

"He's talking about the cabin. He wants me to go up there, visit Maggie." He raises his voice. "I will, Dad. I've already planned to ask for some time on Monday, perhaps make it there before the last snowstorm."

Yeah, don't know why he sounds happy about _that_. Canadians and snow: it's a special relationship we Americans just can't understand.

"Yes, she will, Dad."

"No, I won't, Dad." And he glances back at me. The nonexistent ghost just mentioned me.

"What'd he say about me?"

"He said not to tell Inspector Thatcher that you're coming along if I really want my request for leave granted." He leans over and whispers, "He's a little upset about her. That's who he picked out for me."

This conversation is not happening.

"So he's not happy about us?" Why am I asking? Why do I care what a nonexistent ghost thinks?

"Oh, no, Ray. Actually he took it quite well. He made the requisite complaint about grandchildren, of course."

"Of course," I echo faintly. He looks at me worriedly, and leans forward to kiss me. I think about the shimmer and duck my head. "Not... not now," I whisper. What the hell is wrong with me?

He stops dead, looks at me. Looks uncomfortably over his shoulder. "Ah," he says, kind of noncommittal. The tea kettle begins whistling and he goes to get his tea.

I stare at the shimmer and squint and wish I had my glasses handy.

Fraser comes back in the room with his tea. Looks at the shimmer. Looks at me. "Thank you, Dad," he says quietly. "I know."

He comes and sits down on the bed. "He's gone." And sure enough I don't see what I thought I saw, although I'm not sure I ever saw it to begin with.

"Just don't, Ben. I don't know who's crazier, me or you." I lay back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. "I used to know. I mean, I knew you were crazy. But now I think hanging with you has made me just as bad."

"'There are more things on heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio,'" he quotes at me.

I snort. "Yeah, well, he really was nuts, so don't go there, Frase."

He breaks into a grin, the big, happy grin, the one I don't see too often. It lights up his face, the whole room, me. "All right, Ray, we won't. Although it is a common misconception that he was the insane-"

"Fraser." I'm thinking, the wheels in my head doing double time. He stops. For once.

"Fraser, on that mini-sub thing... was he there? I mean," remembering my cop psychology, "did you think he was there?"

He looks at me. Amused. "Yes, he was, Ray."

"Oh. So why didn't he tell you to take that transfer?"

"Actually, Ray, he was the one who was encouraging me to stay. I thought it odd, at the time. After all, it was the logical career move." He stops talking, sips his tea, thinking.

And I'm quiet. I can't think of anything else to say, and it's way late. And there was a ghost here. And Ben wants me to go to Canada with him.

Way past weird. Way past cool.

"Tell me about your dad, Frase," I hear myself say. We got time. We got all the time in the world.

"Really?" He looks up, surprised.

"Yeah, Frase. You know. When did you see his ghost?" Not that I believe in ghosts, not for a second. "And is that where you keep his journals, there in that chest? And can I read 'em, some time?"

I don't know how he does it, but now he's lit from inside and he's so beautiful, so happy, so adorable, I can't take it all in, not in one glance, and so I just have to stare at him. "Ray, you... you never cease to amaze me," he says, touching my cheek gently. And then he starts to talk, and I listen, and he talks, and just like before we fall asleep, still talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. But you can't have a relationship where Bob shows up at the most inopportune times and _not_ have your live-in lover notice it. At least not if he's a good detective.
> 
> There were many mailing list discussions about whether Bob was real or not. You can argue it either way, and you can write it either way; I tend to fall on the "real" side because of Bird in the Hand (Boot in the Chest), All the Queen's Horses, and, of course, Hunting Season. 
> 
> But one of the most fun theories posited about Bob was the Freudian one. I think this originated with Canis lupus but I know LaT and Te and others were involved in fleshing it out. That's the one where Bob is Fraser's superego and Dief is his id. This also made Dief's making intimate with Kowalski (and Vecchio, of course) even more amusing. 
> 
> On a more serious note, the entire Bob-Fraser arc - highlighted and thrown into contrast by the Buck-Fraser arc - was some brilliant storytelling and character development. It always seemed to me that Fraser had ended up having more in common with Buck than with Bob. A large part of dS is Fraser's coming to terms with his relationship with his father - explicitly and implicitly - and that's echoed in part by Vecchio's paternal journey and even Kowalski's later. But Buck was more accessible than Bob, even though Fraser was clearly regarded as being as much of a legend (perhaps in the making - remember "They said he was the last of a breed; they were wrong. You are" from the freaking _Pilot_ , for Pete's sake!) as his father. So it wasn't exactly that Fraser was trying to live up to his father's legend; it was more complicated than that (for instance, look at the relationship he develops with Welsh, particularly in S3/4). And it was exhilarating, and mesmerising.


	11. Chapter 11

I'm surprised to find that I awaken, slightly later than usual, at five-thirty. Upon reflection, I realise we did get to bed rather early so despite the ghostly visit I have had my usual amount of sleep. And I look down at Ray with unutterable affection and gratitude in my heart. His face is on the pillow beside mine, tucked in between my neck and my shoulder, and one arm is still holding me. It takes every ounce of self-discipline I possess to quietly remove myself from his embrace and allow him to sleep. I am looking forward to a brisk shower, this morning, to help me keep myself and my wanton desires under control. What I really need is a roll in the snow. And I tamp down the flare of delight that thought brings, accompanied as it is by the thought of Ray, my Ray, at my cabin. Soon.

The water is almost, but not quite, cold enough to simulate snow, and I feel refreshed as I cross to the closet in search of clothing. Diefenbaker whines but doesn't get up. I eye him coldly. "Slothful," I say quietly. He looks away with another whine and after a moment gets up and walks restlessly to the window, catching my eye. "In a moment," I tell him, pulling on my jeans. "Do you think I might be permitted to put the tea kettle on first?" He whimpers, averting his gaze. I go to the kitchen to put the kettle on, then sit down in a chair to put my socks and hiking boots on. It is a chill Chicago morning but it looks as if it will be a beautiful day, if the dawn sky is anything to go by. And somewhere in my brain, unbidden, rises the thought: Two weeks.

Diefenbaker is really quite restless this morning so I pour the hot water into a travel mug with the tea bag and indicate to him that we are ready. It won't be a run, for me, of course, with tea and boots, but we should manage a few brisk miles before Ray wakes.


	12. Chapter 12

The sounds of Fraser moving quietly about his apartment, talking to Dief the way he always does, are wonderful to hear, as I lay not all the way awake breathing in the smell of him on the pillow. Love waking up with him like this. No urgency, no worry. I slit my eyes and see him pad barefooted into the kitchen, hear the kettle go on the stove, then see him sit down to put boots on. Dief is sitting by the door, head cocked. Fraser joins him, mug in hand. I stretch and yawn a huge yawn. "Jeez, Frase, is the sun up yet?"

He looks over in surprise from the door. "Good morning, Ray," he says, a worried tone in his voice. "I'm terribly sorry to have woken you. Please go back to sleep."

"What're you doing?"

"Exercise. For Diefenbaker." He is almost short with me, and I stare at him, trying to see what's wrong. His voice softens. "Please, Ray, go back to sleep. I - I'll be quieter in future, I promise."

I get it. Guilt. Thinks he woke me up. He doesn't realise I'm too happy to sleep. I sit up. Dief whines.

"Fraser! I'm not mad! I'm just awake!" I say angrily.

"You're starting to raise your voice," he points out.

"You're making me crazy, that's why!" I yell. "Did you ever think I might wanna get up early? Might wanna go for a run or walk or whatever with you 'n Dief?"

"At six in the morning? No," Fraser says honestly, a troubled look on his face.

I can't help smiling at that and I'm not mad anymore. I stumble out of his bed, pat Dief on my way to the john. "Just let me splash some water on my face."

"You can shower, if you like," Fraser calls. Dief whines and then barks. "Diefenbaker," I hear Fraser say sternly as I close the door. So I do hop in the shower and almost jump through the ceiling. Fraser left it set on ice. He is just too unbelievable for words. He probably finds cold showers refreshing. And I smile at the thought of his wonderful lips shaping that sentence.

When I come out five minutes later, it's to the smell of coffee. Fraser's made me a travel mug of coffee to go. What a guy. "M & Ms?" I ask, cheekily.

"No, just Smarties, Ray, and I'm afraid it's only instant," he answers, shaking his head.

"Some customer service." I pull on my jeans, my socks, my boots, my shirt and jacket. Can't find my briefs. Don't care. I see Fraser watching me, his eyes wider than ever. As if he can't help himself, he says, "Ray, er, isn't that uncomfortable? Doesn't that hurt? I have some boxer shorts..."

I laugh at him. "Fraser, I got briefs. I'm just in a hurry! And no, it doesn't hurt, not as much as those starched things of yours probably do. It's kinda fun. You should try it sometime. Well, maybe not in wool pants..."

He gulps and goes crimson, opens the door. "Come along, Diefenbaker," he says without looking at me again. I grab my coffee and run after them. "Wait up, Frase!"

When we get back to Fraser's place, I head to the GTO. "I have to run back to my apartment, Fraser. Can't face two weeks without noise."

He laughs, a little nervously. "Not... not a TV, Ray?"

"Nah, I know how you are about the noise. Just my boombox. Can't believe I forgot it." I slow down, turn, as a thought occurs to me. "If -if it's okay with you."

He catches up with me and says, "It's more than okay, Ray. You know that."

I'm touched. Can't let him see that, he'll think I'm so mushy. "But no TV, huh."

He grins. Knows he's being teased. "I'll get a short-wave radio, if you want noise."

We stop for breakfast on the way over to my place, and so it's about 8:30 before we finally get there. On the way to my place he decided he has to go to the consulate, something he says he forgot to do. Right.

"It's Sunday, Fraser, get a life," I toss over my shoulder, heading for the bedroom to get my boombox. He follows me. "Bring some-" 

"I'm bringing the whole case," I say.

"I knew that," he says with a grin and reaches to kiss me. After a minute I drop the boombox and the CD case on my bed so I can put my arms around him too.

"You think you know everything," I whisper against his mouth. And he probably does. About me, anyway.

After a few minutes I've forgotten about the CDs, about the boombox. That's the effect he has on me. He's the one who finally, reluctantly, says, "This isn't what we're supposed to be doing." And reaches down to pick up the CD folder as he begins to walk out of the bedroom. I don't know about him, but I know what I want to be doing, and it does not involve the Canadian Consulate in any way, shape, or form.

"Think I'll change," I say after him. He stops dead. I turn half away from him, pretending not to see him slowly turn, and start unbuttoning my jeans, using one foot to pull the other foot outta my boots. It's not like I think I'm sexy or anything but Fraser does, so okay, I'll go with that, and I shrug out of my jacket, pull my shirt off one-handed, and drop it on top of my jacket on the bed while my other hand keeps unbuttoning buttons, slow, at my crotch.

"Stanley Raymond Kowalski," Fraser says from just behind me, and I almost jump because I hadn't realised he was so close to me, "you are not attempting to induce me to dereliction of duty, by any chance?"

"No, not at all, Frase. You go on to the Consulate, do what it is you got to do. I'll maybe grab a shower, catch up with you later. Want the keys to the GTO?" I get the last button unbuttoned and put my hand up to the waistband to start pushing the jeans down. I'm still not looking at him. I can hear him breathing harder though. And close my eyes in a mix of triumph and passion when I feel his hand slip in between my jeans and my skin, touching my ass, helping me push the jeans down.

"Uh, keys are in the pocket, Frase," I say, putting my left hand into the pocket, not without difficulty, to pull 'em out. And finally get them out and turn to face him, holding them out with as innocent a face as I can muster at this point.

He gets it and the damn Mountie takes his hand off my ass, takes the keys, and says, "Thank you kindly, Ray, I'll try not to put any scratches on it."

I hold his eyes a minute and then with both hands push my jeans down a little further.

"You're welcome, Frase. I'll see you later."

Long, pregnant pause. He's never looked sexier than at this moment, passion warring with humour in his eyes, his face trying so hard not to smile... and have I mentioned how _great_ he looks in that leather jacket?

He slips the keys into the pocket of his jacket and begins to turn.

"This one of them Canadian stand-offs, Frase?"

He whips back around and grabs me, fast, kisses me, hard. _Oh_ yeah, and I could almost come then and there.

"I expect you would find the term Polish stand-off pejorative," he says with a chuckle, lowering his head to my neck. I shudder involuntarily as I feel his teeth for a brief second.

"I could handle Polish-Canadian stand-off without feeling too excluded," I say, a little breathless. "In fact, that'd be pretty inclusive right about now... but I'm not too sure about the standing part. Lose the clothes, Fraser."

I already got the jacket off him and I'm working on the buttons on the shirt. I fumble with them - he's got two shirts on again, never met anyone who wore so many damn clothes at the same time, but on the other hand he's never sick so who knows - and he pulls me over to kiss him again, pulling the shirt off himself, and I hear buttons go flying. And feel, a few seconds later, a hand in my jeans, pulling my cock out, pushing my jeans down further, as he turns me around, licks my spine, bites almost hard on the back of my shoulder where it goes into my neck, God, how the hell did he get so good at this? Feel him lick, bite, lick, stroke, and...

"Oh, shit, Fraser, I'm sorry!" and I'm coming all over his hand, the carpet. He whispers in my ear, "Don't be sorry, Ray, you are incredible," and I feel his bare cock against my ass, thrusting, holding me up somehow because I'm not too steady right this second. Then he pulls me backwards so we fall onto my bed, our legs tangled in our jeans down around our knees. I twist around to kiss him, close my teeth on his neck, hear him groan, find his cock with one hand, and try to drive him crazy with a fast, steady stroke.

"Ray," he moans, not quite a whisper, "your mouth? ...oh God, Ray, please..."

"Great minds think alike, Frase," I say, my mouth watering already, love the taste of him in my mouth, and I'm getting better at it, at least I think so, because he must like it if he actually asks for it. Even love the smell of him, he smells like Ben and sweat and semen and altogether guy and I think I love to take his balls in my mouth just to taste that smell that drives me insane. He's moaning soundlessly, thrusting up into my hand and I can't resist that smooth soft iron cock in a velvet glove any more and tease myself just a minute more by licking up one side and down the other before lowering my head all the way.

He stops the wild thrusting as soon as he feels my mouth close on him, trying to maintain control, and he rubs my shoulder, can't stop himself from making minuscule little thrusts off the bed. "Yes, Ray, oh yes," he whispers, and I suck, lick, suck, then slip my mouth off him, under his balls, to lick and tongue the muscle beneath. He almost jumps off the bed at that and as I lick back up to his cock I feel him tighten and start to spasm...

"Oh, Ben, yeah, I want you," I say hoarsely, and with a wild groan he thrusts up hard into my open mouth. I close my mouth over him, fast, so I don't miss a drop, hot bitter fluid hitting the back of my throat and Ben moaning those helpless moans, life doesn't get a whole hell of a lot better than this, right here, right now. I swallow, swallow again, and move up to push a hand through his hair, kiss his closed eyes. He smiles at my touch and I gotta lean down and kiss those lips too.

He murmurs something against my mouth, something I don't quite hear. Raise my head, cock it at him. He opens his eyes and pulls me back down.

"I said, you were right. Having you is even better than wanting you."

"Oh, yeah, Ben. Absolutely." I breathe a sigh. "Absolutely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was definitely another (early) attempt to figure out how to write a sex scene. This may also have been one that I pulled out and posted to the lists as a PWP. Also... I doubt Fraser ever actually had to go to the Consulate. Poor Dief, though; now that I reread this, I realise he was not getting his exercise. That's something I might catch nowadays.


	13. Chapter 13

Late afternoon, I'm making no headway on the counterfeit ring that's been dropped in my lap and Vecchio's nowhere to be found. I bug out early, call Ben. We've been spending more time at my place lately anyhow - Vecchio has trouble coming up with reasons to drop in on us there so it's not as rough as it is at Ben's place - so he's not surprised when I tell him to meet me there, I'll get Chinese, Dief'll get his walk.

He's not surprised but he protests anyway. "I'll just go home, Ray; last time was too close."

"We won't answer the fucking door, Fraser."

"That will simply make matters worse, Ray."

"Dinner, come on. Watch TV. Nothing else."

A sigh and he says with a smile I can hear, "That would be an acceptable compromise. I'll see you in a little while."

Little while's too damn long because the Chinese is ready way too quick and I can't settle. He opens the door and says to Dief, "See? I told you. Kung Pao Chicken. Hello, Ray. How goes the case?"

I can't answer him, I'm too busy trying to climb inside his flannel shirt, inside his mouth, inside his pants. He lets me, for a minute, before pulling away regretfully. "No, Ray, too dangerous," he whispers, shutting the door hard and locking it. "Not now."

"You're right," I say, sighing heavily. "Dammit. Can't wait to get to that cabin of yours, Ben. It's far away, right?"

"Oh, yes," he says, and his eyes sparkle, those incredible eyes like a stormy summer day, those eyes that can look into your soul. "Far, far away."

"You know you're the most annoying man in the world? How you can stand there and look like that and expect me to keep my hands off you..."

"Yes, I believe I've heard that mentioned from time to time." He smiles at me and suddenly pulls me into his arms again, and there is very little that is gentle or tender this time about his kiss, and I know that he wants me just as bad. But again he is the one who pulls away, both of us breathing heavily, leaning against each other for support.

You got it bad, Kowalski, I think, and then realise I said it out loud. Fraser looks at me with a tiny frown.

"Ray?"

"Yeah, Frase?"

"Explanation?"

"I got it bad for you, Fraser. Means I want you. Can't think about anything but you. Don't tell me you never heard that before. Where you been living, under a rock?"

"Sometimes I think so, yes. And, Ray-" he stops me as I head to the kitchen for some space- "I have it badly too."

I'm supposed to walk away from that smile? I don't think so. And suddenly we're kissing again. This time when we come to our senses we're on the couch. We look at each other, guiltily, and then we both start laughing. "I'm gonna make some coffee, Fraser. We can watch some cable or something. You can solve the case just by sitting here thinking, right, Sherlock?"

"I believe I would like some tea, as well, Ray." He follows me into the kitchen and leans against the counter, not talking, just watching me as I put coffee on, and water for tea.

"You know where the mugs are," I say, nodding at the cabinet behind him.

"Yes, I know." He doesn't move, just keeps watching me with that half-smile.

"And the tea," I say, trying not to look at him. I start rinsing off the plates in the sink and next thing I know he's behind me, his arms around me, kissing the back of my neck, my ears, and I drop the plate I'm holding as I reach up to cover his hands on my chest with my own and hear the plate break and I don't even care.

"Sorry, Ray," he whispers but he doesn't sound very sorry. He buries his head in between my neck and my shoulder and breathes my name out on a sigh as he hugs me. "I enjoy holding you," he says into my neck. "Thank you."

What's he thanking me for - breathing?

Knowing him, probably. But I can't get any sarcasm out 'cause I'm enjoying this so much. So we stand like that for a few minutes, his head in my neck and my head tipped back to give him access, his arms around me and my hands around his arms. It feels so damn good, so safe, so warm. I feel so loved.

"Never figured you for the cuddly type, Frase," I say, blinking, wondering why on earth I feel like crying when I'm so happy. I have to get cool again.

His only response is a murmur into my neck, and his arms tighten just a little more.

"Uh... I need to breathe, Frase."

"No, you don't. I'll breathe for you."

There is only one thing sexier than serious Mountie, and that's silly Mountie. Somehow I twist around in his arms so I can look at him, face to face, see that incredible grin that stretches from here to the North Pole. Which, I've been told, is really in Canada. Sure, whatever. Those Canadians think they have everything. Think they know everything. But then, if it wasn't for them I wouldn't have Ben, so they're welcome to put the North Pole any damn place they want.

He tilts his head up from my shoulder to look at me and then raises it to kiss me. We're almost the same height. We're a perfect fit.

"Would that be some mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, Frase?" I say softly.

He clears his throat. "Actually, Ray, that would require a prone position." And then blushes. Okay, there _is_ one thing sexier than silly Mountie and that's red Mountie.

And we both begin laughing again right at the same moment.

He leans in to kiss me again and I meet him more than halfway. Doesn't get much better than this.

Coffee's finished and the water is finally boiling for Fraser's tea. Reluctantly he releases me and gets down two mugs while I scrabble for his tea. I can't believe I actually bought chamomile tea. We take our mugs and head for the couch where the tube is still on. I switch to ESPN. Fraser turns the light on and settles down with the phone book, the yellow pages this time. I slide down on my back with my head butted up next to his thigh. "Got an idea?" I ask.

"No, nothing really. I'm simply trying to familiarise myself with some of the locations and companies that may be involved in this case."

"Tell the truth, Fraser, you can't stand not to be reading something."

He grins at that but doesn't comment. I've already discovered that he spends a whole lot of time at the library, where he is, of course, everybody's favourite patron and where he's spoiled almost as much as Dief, who somehow seems to have been accorded some kind of seeing eye dog status or something because he walks in there like he owns the place.

But it makes sense. I know Fraser loves to read, his grandparents were librarians, for Christ's sake, and I know Fraser loves knowledge for its own sake, not 'cause he likes to impress people.

He doesn't worry much about that. For someone so polite, he doesn't worry much about what people think of him, say, talking to the wolf in public. I like that. And I like to read, too, but not as much as Fraser. I haven't had much time to read, the past few years. I'm finding more time now.

Fraser's just a bad influence all around.

"All in all, Ray, there are signs of a certain rudimentary strategy. In the late afternoon, the personnel are relieved at the approach of the end of the day. There is quite often a late afternoon rush and the employees may not be paying as much attention to events that are unusual as they normally would. And to add the stress of an armoured car delivery to that mix is simply incredibly poor planning on any bank's part. At least two people will need to be called away to verify the shipment and secure it in the inner vault, thus leaving even fewer people to wait on customers and note possible fraudulent activity."

"Jeez, Frase, you rob banks on weekends?"

"Oh, no, Ray. I simply have had many, many opportunities to spend time in banks in the late afternoon in Chicago. It's somewhat difficult to cash a cheque in Canadian funds in America, you know, even if it is a government cheque. Generally it seems to require the assistance of at least one head teller, an assistant manager and quite often a manager as well. In addition to the international teller, of course."

"You need to switch banks, Fraser."

"Oh, they are always very polite, Ray. And quite helpful, once it's established that the procedure does in fact exist."

"You go to different banks? Every time?"

"No, of course not, Ray. That would be silly."

I get it now. They just like the Mountie. Yeah, I can see the whole setup. I'm going to have to go with him some time. Must be pretty funny. I look up at him upside down. He raises his eyebrows at me.

"You're a pretty nice guy, Fraser."

He blushes. Of course.

"You're gonna blush like that, I'll have to give you something to get red about, Mountie."

He opens his mouth to say something as he puts the phone book on the table and his attention is caught by the TV. I look over and see the magic words cross the screen. No, not college basketball. And don't even think about pro ball. Curling? Ha. No, it's a pre-Iditarod special. One look at Ben as he watches some stock footage of dog sledding and I know he's lost to the world. "Something to be said for TV, after all, huh, Frase?"

"Mmmhmm." He doesn't even blink. I sigh, and turn the volume up for him, turn over, scoot up and put my head on his leg, and watch it with him. Feel his hand on my back, and it's interesting to feel him tense and relax as he watches the footage. He's probably thinking how they could improve this or that. He probably knows all that stuff they're talking about, about harnesses and frames and lashing. And all about the dogs. Even Dief is staring at the screen, almost as intently as Ben.

Commercial. Finally. "You ever done the Iditarod, Frase?" I know he hasn't, just making conversation.

"No. No, Ray. It requires time and dedication. You can't just buy dogs for that kind of race. Although I remember once having to purchase two-" and he's launched into a story about how he had to find an Inuit village with no food left and down by four dogs and came across an igloo in the middle of nowhere with some incredible dogs. He is animated and happy and even though I just wanna go to Canada to be alone with him, it sounds exciting, adventurous, and I can't wait to see this place that Fraser loves so much. It's gotta have Ottawa beat by a sky-high mile.

The show comes back on and he doesn't even seem to be aware that he's resting a hand on my leg, now, as if he can't stand not to be touching me. Yeah, I can get behind that, and after a few more minutes I turn back around and put my head on his leg again, and he rests his fingers in my hair, moving them absently, gently through it. And then his fingers trail down to my ear, and then to my cheek, and my jaw, and begin to work their way back up my face, brushing my lips, touching the bridge of my nose, smoothing my eyebrows, and stroking up my forehead back into my hair. And I'm amazed that something as simple as a touch can be so tender and so erotic.

And I feel his breathing quicken and his hand trembles a little as it starts down my face again, and I open my eyes to look up at him. He's lost interest in the TV, that's clear, because he's staring down at me with love and more in his eyes. He holds my eyes with his own as he moves his hand down my jaw to my neck and then further down to my chest, under my shirt. His hand makes a side trip to one of my nipples, and I gasp and close my eyes reflexively as he brushes it. He smiles, a little unsteadily, as his hand finds the other one, with the same effect. And then he brings his hand back up, so slowly, back up my neck to my chin, to my mouth, lingering on my lips for a moment before continuing up my nose to my forehead, and back to my hair.

I push myself up on my elbows, pushing further back so that my head is resting on his other leg now and my shoulders are on his right leg. He brings his left hand up to my hair to move his fingers in it as his right hand starts over again. We've still said nothing, our eyes still locked together. This time he brushes my lips with his fingers as they descend to my neck, stopping at my collarbone, and then continuing down, over my shirt this time until his fingers reach my waist, and then he begins to pull up my shirt, finding my nipples again, from the bottom of the shirt this time. And he continues to stroke my chest, like he's cataloguing my muscles, my bones, my skin... and then his fingers slip down beneath my waistband and back out, in and out, tantalising. Almost unconsciously I begin to move my hips towards him, wanting more contact, but he strokes back up to my chest and then to my face again and I wonder how he can be so gentle.

"Ben..." I whisper, hardly aware that I've even opened my mouth.

He smiles again, and sends his hand down in that excruciatingly slow journey to my waist, and _this_ time he slides his whole hand under the waistband, and then back out, and then in, and I suck in my stomach to give him more room, wanting him to continue. But he pulls his hand out, and then puts it in again, until I growl in wordless frustration and reach down to unbutton my jeans. He puts his hand over mine and helps me, and all I can hear is my heartbeat and the sound of his breathing, almost harsh, with a tremour overlaid. Finally my jeans are unbuttoned but then he moves his hand all the way back up my body to my face and my hair again, ignoring my thrusting. He takes a deep breath and sends his hand down again, slower than ever, stopping at my nipples for longer than before, finding my hipbone under my jeans, before continuing further down, further, further... and then a jolt of electricity as he touches me, at last, at last, and I gasp his name as he strokes, lightly, and then firmly, and he leans down to kiss me as I come about thirteen seconds later.

"God, Ben, what was _that_?" I say, when I can breathe again.

He smiles, shakily, and says huskily, "I enjoy touching you."

And I turn my head towards his body, intending to kiss his stomach because I can't reach anything else right now, and he jerks involuntarily at the sudden pressure, his head going back, his face dissolving into a look I know only too well, and I feel his cock surging against my cheek beneath his jeans. All it took was a touch, a movement. That not only shakes me, it is so sexy that it would turn me on again if I was sixteen, which I'm not. So I settle for putting a hand up to Ben's face. His eyes are closed and at the touch of my hand he smiles again.

"Love you, Ben," I whisper and I turn over on my side, buttoning my pants, ignoring the sticky mess, too tired and happy to care, my head still on his legs, facing his body, and I put one arm around his back and close my eyes. Just to enjoy the closeness. Just to enjoy the feel, the warmth, the musky smell of Ben's body beneath my head. And after a moment his arms go around my shoulders to hold me too.

He sighs and then pulls me a little closer. And I feel a chill on my body as he takes one hand away, but it's only to turn off the light, and then it's back, and he settles back into the couch, watching the TV with unseeing eyes and a remote smile as he holds me... and sooner than soon I'm sleepy, 'cause it's almost as good as being in Ben's bed, in Ben's arms. I'm in his arms anyhow. How did I deal a few short weeks ago, sleeping alone every night, waking up even more alone every morning?

Which I do, the next morning, covered with the comforter from my bed, an innocuous note on the coffee table: "Thank you, Ray." It leaves a smile on my face that pretty much compensates for the ache in my back from sleeping funny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chalk another one up to the "how's this sex scene thing work?" But I do remember writing this one; I was trying to maintain the sense of quiet tension throughout. 
> 
> And, yes, I used to work in banking. I can just imagine how much fun the tellers would have had every time Fraser came in to cash his cheque. Does anyone remember the due South commercial where all the women would rush to the window to watch Fraser walk down the street? "It's time!" That still makes me smile.


	14. Chapter 14

I don't see Fraser at lunch. Probably a good thing, because today Vecchio's taken it into his head to do the limpet thing with me. He manages to piss off two of the guys I'm trying to get to talk and we end up having a shouting match in an alley. He stomps off and I want to punch him, the wall, something. He second guesses me at every turn, and I don't know if it's to annoy me or to stake his claim on this cop gig again or what, but I'm getting tired of the whole cannoli.

This makes me not in the best mood when I pick Fraser up and I go right to worse mood when he says, "Mine," in response to what's become a nightly question. That means no sex, no groping, no fucking _kissing_ because Vecchio has no manners and Fraser's too worried about spilling the beans to tell Vecchio to get some.

He knows I'm pissed; I don't try to hide it. So he does his patented Mountie subject changing thing and asks about the case. Wronger move. The mood goes from worse to downright bad. I can't talk about Vecchio too much because he doesn't like that, but the truth is Vecchio hasn't given a shit about this counterfeit ring from day one - I guess it doesn't have enough Mob connections to interest him - and Fraser's been too damned busy to work on it much with me either. So I'm feeling kind of sorry for myself already, and I snap at him.

"It's not my fault, Ray," he says. "I didn't annoy your suspects."

"Only because you weren't there," I mutter. "What do you want for dinner?"

"We'll order a pizza," Fraser says absently. "Ray, have you thought that perhaps there might be a Mafia connection?"

"If there was Vecchio would have sussed it out already," I say between my teeth. "What, did he call you and tell you what to say to me?"

"I haven't spoken to him-"

"Really? He stuck to me like a burr all day. Lay you odds he's in your neighbourhood tonight too."

"It's poker night," Fraser says. "And I don't wager. Has anyone analysed the patterns of distribution?"

"Fraser. Do I look like a graduate of the Willison Po-leece Academy?"

"I simply thought-"

"I got it all at the 27th. You want to go there instead of your place? We might have some privacy that way."

"No," he says simply. Dief whines.

But he won't let it go. He brings it up twice more in the rest of the drive home, no mean feat considering he lives less than fifteen minutes' drive from the Consulate; and I've gone from bad mood to downright pissed. The sight of Vecchio's Riv parked in front of Fraser's place makes a slow burn start inside me, and Fraser's fucking manners put the fucking lid on. I sulk through pizza and I make no excuses or explanations when Vecchio finally, reluctantly leaves, waiting for me to go with him, like I usually do. Tonight I don't budge; I just say I got some private things to discuss with Fraser and I say it in about as mean a voice as I feel, so he's really confused and Fraser's worried and I can see myself doing this and I can't seem to stop myself. And when he finally leaves, I cut loose, knowing that it's not Fraser's fault, knowing it's not my fault, knowing we're just stuck in a mess and still I can't keep my mouth shut, I have to get it off my chest.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's striking me that there's a disparity in the Kowalski - Vecchio tension levels between the end of Part I and this middle of Part II that I did not notice. The tension between Kowalski and Fraser is really what's driving this part (and it could have driven this part on its own). That's a danger of non-linear writing, especially since Part II was written first: Part I ought to have been matched to it after the fact, and I just didn't notice it. I needed to spackle some un-tension in there!


	15. Chapter 15

 

Fraser shakes his head, that mulish look on his face. Even though we've already spent most of last night arguing in between sleeping, I lose it again. "God damn it, Fraser! You think I can't do anything by myself?" I yell at him.

He flinches at that, of course. "You know it's not that, Ray," he says, almost wearily. "I had hoped to impress on the lieutenant the fact that - "

"You think I can't tell him that?"

He sighs. "Not as well as I can, no, Ray." Tell me again how I appreciate his honesty. He sits on the bed, rubs his left eyebrow with the back of his thumb.

He takes a breath and then, incredibly, backs down. Never seen that happen. _Never_.

"All right, Ray," he says quietly, not looking at me. "If I could perhaps just go over two or three key points-"

"Fine," I snap. He raises his eyes to mine, briefly, and then looks back down at the floor. Dief whines at him and then trots over to put his head on one of Fraser's knees and looks back at me over his shoulder. I hate how dogs - wolves - whatever - do that. Especially Dief, who manages to look reproachful and mad at the same time right now. Yeah, I gotta get into a relationship where a damn wolf manipulates me. And realise now I'm finally over the edge, I'm jealous of the wolf too. Fraser's hand goes to Dief's head so slowly that Dief whines again.

"Yes, I know, " he says in an undertone.

"You know what? Now you expect me to believe the wolf talks too?" I say, still mad, still trying to hurt him. God, why am I trying to hurt him?

He looks up at that, no expression in his clear blue eyes. "No, Ray," he says. Just that.

We're both quiet for a moment. The only movement in the room is Ben's hand in Dief's fur.

"Fraser!" I say roughly.

"What?"

"Don't do that. Don't stop being who you are just so I don't get mad, okay? If you think you should come with me, then tell me that. Argue with me. I get mad a lot. There's nothing you can do about that."

"I know that your temper is mercurial, Ray."

I bite back the retort that rises to my lips and instead say, "Fraser. I mean it. Don't you ever get mad?"

"Upon occasion," Fraser says, after considering for a moment.

"Not so's anyone would actually notice," I say.

"Shouting is not in my nature," Fraser says. "It's simply not, Ray. And admit it, you would not be happy if I were to start yelling at you."

"It's not like I'll get the chance to find out!"

"Ray. Why are we arguing about this?" And he drops his head into his hands, rubbing his eyes with the fingers of both hands and then continuing through his hair.

"I hate that, Fraser," I say. "You just can't be rational all the time! It's not normal!"

He actually chuckles at that. A real, warm, from-the-toes chuckle. "I am a freak, after all, Ray." Then he sobers and adds, "Despite your conviction, I am not rational all the time. And I am still trying to find a _modus vivendi_ with you. I don't know how much compromising I'll have to do, and how much you'll have to do, to make this work."

"You don't have to compromise who you are, Fraser. I'll get mad at you but I'm not gonna hate you 'cause you stick to your guns. And I don't... I don't use my anger, Frase. You know that."

He looks at me. Puzzled.

"I don't use my anger to make you do stuff, or not do stuff. I just get mad."

His face clears. "Ah. Yes, I see. You don't utilise your temper to manipulate people and situations. I know that, Ray. I knew that," he adds softly. "You are honest to the bone. Thank you."

"For what? What are you thanking me for now, you crazy Mountie?"

"For offering me love with honour, Ray."

And suddenly I feel a rush and I can't look away from him and I remember I haven't kissed him in hours, and somehow I'm at the bed, on my knees in front of him, and we're crushing Dief in our embrace, who whines disgustedly and wriggles out from between us.

"God, Fraser, you make me crazy," I whisper.

"Er, ditto, Ray," he whispers back.

"What time did you have to be at the Consulate?"

"Soon," he says firmly. "You are very distracting, Ray, but-"

"I'd rather be distracted," I say, and then kiss him, hard, demanding. And I feel his instant response through his whole body even before he opens his mouth to return my kiss wholeheartedly.

"In point of fact, I don't have actually have to be at work until nine o'clock," he says into my mouth. And I can feel his heart pounding against my chest and his hands gripping my back as he pulls me onto the bed with him, and I lose myself in his mouth.

~~~

We get cleaned up fast. If I cut corners I'll make it in by nine, Fraser at least will be on time.

"Watch Vecchio be on time for the first time in a week," I say as we pound down the stairs. "Think he'll believe I was at the warehouses?"

"You're not a very good liar," Ben says, that twitch at the corner of his mouth that's almost irresistible.

"Yeah. I could just tell him I was sucking you off. He'd die of a heart attack and all our problems would be solved."

"That's not funny, Ray."

"Sorry."

"Ray Vecchio is not the cause of our problems."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, society, whatever, Ben."

"No," Ben says quietly.

"Oh, I'm looking forward to seeing how you can blame yourself for snoopy no-mannered Italian cops," I say with a snort, hitting the brakes in front of the Consulate way too hard.

He sighs. It's a tired sigh. I feel tired too. Like a gerbil on one of those little wheels. It's never-ending. Ben, guilt, responsibility, Ben, guilt, responsibility.

"I'll pick you up at six," I say.

"No, I'll be working until eight," he says. Hell.

"'Kay, I'll pick you up at eight."

"There's no need, Ray..."

"Fraser. Shut up." He stops. "Fraser, when I said you could argue with me this morning I did not give you blanket permission to argue with every statement that comes out of my mouth. I will pick you up at eight. Just say that. Just say, 'Ray, my friend, I will see you at eight.'"

Obediently he says, "Ray, my friend, I will see you at eight." And then smiles that smile at me.

"Better wipe that grin off your face before the Ice Queen sees it," I tell him, with no doubt an equally foolish grin on my own face, and put the GTO into gear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit it. Ray makes me laugh out loud sometimes. "Yeah. I could just tell him I was sucking you off. He'd die of a heart attack and all our problems would be solved."


	16. Chapter 16

 

Things progress sideways at work, the way they usually do, and I'm out nosing around for witnesses on a hunch at a liquor store hold up that I think was really a hit, when the situation gets ugly and Dewey and I get taken by surprise in a back room. Goddamn clerk gets me in the side of the head with a bottle of Jack Daniels but I manage to pull my piece and get him in the leg as he runs. Dewey isn't in much better shape, except his was Jose Cuervo. Nice to know that my hunch was probably right, if we can get the clerk to roll.

Dewey calls a bus while I call it in, watching my blood drip on the floor as we wait. Damn head wounds. I can tell it's going to need stitches, and I have to restrain myself from kicking the guy in the face when they cuff him and take him out. I know I'll be lucky to make it to the Consulate by eight. That keeps my mind off the fact that this was a rookie mistake and we'd both be dead now if the asshole had had a weapon. Abruptly I sit down.

Welsh comes in with the uniforms. He always shows up when he's got officers down. He stands, scowling, getting in the EMTs' way. "Sloppy work, Dewey, Kowalski. I'm not impressed."

Suddenly I'm too tired to get attitude with him. "You're right," I say.

He looks surprised for a second. "Yeah. So be careful 'cause if you get killed I'm gonna bust you back down to uniform," he says, still trying to sound mad.

Dewey makes that disgusted noise with his mouth that he always does. "You too, Dewey. You too. At least Kowalski got his weapon out. How about you?"

"Guess you'll be busting both of us," I say, trying to get Dewey to lighten up. He glances at me with a quick smile, too quick for Welsh to notice, he thinks. But Welsh pretends not to notice anyhow.

"And don't think I won't," he growls. "Where's that damn Mountie? Never around when you need him."

"He has a life," Dewey says. "You know? The big place that says Canadian Consulate? The pigeon roost?"

Which gives me time to overcome my sudden panic, panic at the thought of unarmed Fraser being caught in the crossfire, being whacked with a bottle and then with a gun, the red of his uniform hiding the red of his blood...

The vision is so real, and surreal, that I gasp out loud. I guess I go white 'cause the paramedic pushes me down on my back. "You didn't lose a lot of blood," he says, "but I guess you're going to try to go into shock. You cops, always craving attention." He starts taking my blood pressure again.

"Yeah, that's us, the life of the party," I agree, my head spinning. "Will you sew me up already?"

"Nah, man, you know I gotta let the hospital do that."

I repress the thought that Ben would do it, with a needle and cotton thread, without a fuss, and close my eyes.

"It's just a goddamn scratch," I say a few minutes later. "Just butterfly it and let me go."

Welsh steps in. "It needs stitches, Kowalski, so shut up."

"Ah, shit." I need to see Fraser. Need to see he's alive. Need to tell him to stay the hell out of the bullet's way.

What the hell did they give me? The panic makes me clearheaded for a moment. Shit. "Lieutenant!" I hiss, motioning him closer. "They gave me something. Make 'em put me out. Don't let me talk. Shit shit shit..."

"Don't worry, Kowalski," he says in a loud voice. "They're taking you in."

I act up, playing along.

"Hey," Welsh says to the paramedic, "I think he needs a little more. He seems to be getting a little panicked."

The paramedic sighs and the last thing I see is a wicked long needle. I'm not sure if I faint or if it's just a really really fast sedative.


	17. Chapter 17

It is, predictably, a long day at the Consulate. I have guard duty from eleven until one, and then again from three to five, and innumerable reports and scheduling and other incredibly boring tasks for the hours in between and after. And today I don't wish to think during guard duty. During my first shift I manage to ignore the thoughts clamoring for my attention by meditating. During my second stint of guard duty I am unable to reach a peaceful center, and I open my mind to the thoughts.

Despite my best intentions, Ray and I are off to a rocky start. Part of this is the Ray Vecchio problem but on the whole I think the real problem is that we are tiptoeing around each other, or at least I am tiptoeing around Ray, most likely out of fear that this is too good to actually be true and therefore he will leave again. I've also never lived with another person. I'm not sure if I can... if we should. We both are private people. We both need room, although I believe I need more solitude than Ray. There's also the problem that of course we can't openly live together. Two apartments will still have to be maintained. But on the other hand, I feel a great joy in waking up with him each morning, having him with me.

So I'm being overly serious with Ray. Right now I should simply be enjoying the fact that we're together and worry about tomorrow tomorrow, but unfortunately it's not in my nature. I always feel better when I have a plan, even if it's not a particularly good plan.

And last night was hell. I would never have thought I could have had a sustained argument, ranging over so many subjects, for such a long time with someone I love as much as I love Ray. I think perhaps that the argument was a cover for something deeper, something we both worry about but never express to one another. So I set myself to try to discern what that worry is, for me at least, soon.

I know too that Ray resents my interference. He understands - he must - that it is not in my nature to stand by and watch. However, this part of my nature is admittedly one that has annoyed him since the day I met him so it's rather naïve of me to think that love will change that, conquer all, make me perfect. Ray Vecchio once told me that it was hard to have a saint for a friend. I imagine it's even more difficult to have a perceived saint as a lover.

And what can I give to Ray besides my love? I endanger his life, frequently in bizarre ways; I annoy him; my wolf gets his car all wet and covers his clothes in wolf hair, although Ray doesn't complain about that as much as Ray Vecchio did and does; I read extensively, a solitary pursuit; I don't follow American sports; my apartment is cold and has no television. Is love enough? Is a relationship possible? What about a lasting relationship? And how long can we hide it? Will I ever get back to Canada? Will I want to go to Canada, when an opportunity presents itself? I have already turned down a promising transfer, and we weren't even lovers then. Will Inspector Thatcher aid me in moving up the ladder in my present position? Her attitude in the past year has changed and she is beginning to treat me as a trusted aide, of real value to her. Is that likely to continue? Especially if I have to tell her? And if it does, will I begin to follow her from posting to posting, as I have seen happen in other situations?

Thankfully I am interrupted from these self-pitying ramblings by the clock chiming five. I can get a bite to eat, stretch, engage in what passes for conversation with Turnbull, and say good evening to the inspector before sitting down with my endless reports.

It's getting late, almost seven-thirty, when my desk phone rings. Constable Turnbull has long since retired to his private quarters in the consulate. It's Lieutenant Welsh. It takes me only seconds to realise it's The Call. I try to control my panic as he tells me not to panic.

"Seven stitches, minor abrasions. He'll be finished up in another fifteen minutes or so. You want me to drive him home or you want to come get him? They gave him a lot of anaesthetic. They wanted to admit him for observation. I said he had friends who would observe him."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Which hospital?" I say, pulling my uniform coat back on and buttoning it. I write a quick note to Turnbull who will undoubtedly wonder where I've gone, since he generally makes us a small bite to eat on these evenings when I work late. And reflect, as Diefenbaker and I begin a steady trot to the 27th to get Ray's car, that I really ought to get an automobile since taxis are so rigid about the transportation of wolves.

Francesca is waiting there with Ray's key, and she casually says, as she hands it to me, "Ray ought to make you one, Frase."

"That's quite a sensible suggestion, Francesca," I say. "I will certainly mention it to him."

"You do that, Frase," she says, with a look in her eyes that I can't quite place. Not quite love, not quite jealousy, not quite sadness, and yet all three and more. "I've already seen him and he's fine, Fraser. Ticked that they wouldn't let him leave but not enough to let drive his stupid car. He'll have a nice romantic scar."

I smile. "Yes, I can imagine the ladies at the 27th will appreciate that. Thank you kindly for bringing me the key."

"You're always welcome, Fraser," she says, with a return to her old flirtatiousness.

I make it to the hospital without exceeding the speed limit more than once or twice. I see Lieutenant Welsh first, standing in the corridor of the entrance.

"Quick work, Constable," he says as we turn and begin walking towards the waiting room. Detective Dewey is there, a large bandage on the back of his head. "Your brother not here yet, Dewey?" 

"He's coming, he's coming."

"Remember to tell him that you need observation. Kowalski too, Constable. That means observation. Wake them up every couple hours, make sure both pupils are the same size, responding to light... the doctor has a handout."

"I am familiar with the side-effects of concussion and head wounds, sir," I say.

"I'm amazed to hear that, Constable," Lieutenant Welsh says drily. 

"I thought perhaps you might be, sir," I reply.

"Jeez, this is stupid, I can walk!" I hear Ray before I see him. He's in a wheelchair, white as a sheet. It takes every ounce of control I possess to smile calmly at him. He sees me and gets even more vocal. "Tell 'em, Fraser. Tell them I can walk!"

"Certainly, Ray," I say, humouring him. "You can walk from the wheelchair to the car, how does that sound?"

"The car? Oh, God, you didn't let Frannie drive the GTO, did you?" he says, panic in his voice. "I _told_ her-"

"It's fine, Ray, she gave me the key." And why do I keep striking up unlikely friendships with men who have such deep relationships with automobiles? I don't understand the passion. But I also understand that he's recovering from a sedative as well as shock, so I can't really hold his passion for his car against him at the moment.

The horrifying prospect of Francesca driving his car keeps him quiet until we reach the doors. Then he stops them with a raised hand. I recognise the look on his face and step forward in case my assistance should be needed. He walks to the car and opens it, slides into the passenger seat so quickly I expect his knees were buckling. "There, you see? I told you. Wheelchairs. Holy shit."

Lieutenant Welsh says, "Remember, keep him awake, keep him under observation."

"Yes, sir, I know," I say as I walk around the car. And I think I see something like approval in his eyes. I am curiously heartened. If Ray and I can control ourselves in such a situation as this, we are in much better shape than I thought.

"I'll call the inspector, tell her we need you for your liaison duties tomorrow at the district," he adds.

"Ah. Well, thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me. Think how much money we're saving keeping these two rookies out of the hospital. Sheesh."

We are both silent as I pull away, and I grind the gears. Ray flinches. "Oh, please, Fraser, I can drive, I promise."

"This is your punishment for your 'rookie mistake,' I suppose," I say.

"Fraser," he says quietly, then stops.

I wait.

"Frase, I'm really okay. I just had Welsh have them put me out. I didn't want to babble. It hasn't all worn off yet."

"I can see that," I say, as calmly as I can. And I'm filled with wonder and with joy at his incredible mind, his quick thinking, his reactions, and his instincts that he has learned to trust. I want to tell him this but I don't know how. "Good thinking," I say instead.

He turns his head, uncertainly, to look at me. And then in the darkness of the car our hands clasp. I try to show him with my touch how frightened I was, how happy I am to see him. "Yours or mine?" I ask.

"Yours," he says instantly. He leans back and closes his eye. His bandage extends from his cheekbone up into his hair, which is now more experimental than ever. I comment upon this. He smiles in response but says nothing.

The steps to my apartment almost do him in, but he says under his breath, "If you sling me up and carry me, Fraser, I will pop you." But I do have to almost carry him to the bed. He falls onto it, heavily, with a huge, gusty sigh. "Home, Fraser. You got any caffeine in this place?"

"I have tea..."

"No, how about some Coke? Coffee?"

"Yes, of course, coffee, Ray." It might help. I go into the kitchen to put water on. I really ought to get a coffee maker.

"And stop tiptoeing around, Fraser," he says irritably. "I'm feeling no pain and the coffee'll take care of the sedative. It's just seven lousy stitches."

"Very impressive, though. And I will have to annoy you, I'm afraid. Check your pupils for dilation, and so on," I say, coming back in to sit on the floor by the bed. "Of course I realise that sometimes I annoy you just by breathing."

"No, talking, Frase," he corrects me with a grin, and puts his hand out to touch my lips, almost curiously. I can't hide my intake of breath. It's a conditioned response. His smile grows even wider at that and he pushes the tip of his finger into my mouth and then quickly withdraws it. I hear a guttural sound and realise with shock it is emanating from my throat as I lean over and pull him into my arms.

"That's better," he says in a satisfied voice against my mouth. "This close enough for you to keep an eye on me, Fraser?"

"Ray," I say unsteadily, pulling away, "we do too much of this. And not enough talking."

He sighs. "We talked _all_ night last night. This is just a lot more fun, Frase."

"We didn't resolve anything."

"What's to resolve? I love you, you love me. I want you, you want me. I annoy you, you annoy me. Your wolf whines at me, I whine at your wolf. Where you going with this, Ben?"

And incredibly I begin to laugh. The world according to Ray. If it were only that simple. And I repeat that thought, aloud.

"It is, Ben," he says quietly, seriously. "All the rest is just crap."

"But I feel that I have nothing to give you except love," I say in a rush. It's very difficult to express these things.

He gapes at me. "Did you - did you forget to mention your incredible good looks?" he teases. Then sobers again. "Love's all I want, Ben. That's what I'm in it for. Thought you were too. And the sex, of course." He grins wickedly.

The sedative has clearly not worn off: he is more up and down than he normally would be and the caffeine probably won't help. At any rate, I can't expect a serious conversation while he's in this mood, although his words do bring warmth to my heart. And his actions bring warmth to other portions of my anatomy.

I wake at three o'clock, startled. I've been dozing, with the light still on. Ray is draped across my chest, breathing evenly, a smile on his face. He doesn't appear to be in any distress, but I waken him anyway, check his pupils. He squints up at me, his voice raspier than usual.

"Keep telling you, Fraser, I got a hard head."

"That is not a revelation," I say. "Would you like some water? Some aspirin?" I am on my feet and heading for the kitchen.

"I think the headache was taken care of already," he says with a satisfied grin and stretch. "Come back here." He pats the bed. I lie down and he drapes himself across me again, his right hand resting on my left arm. "Ben, you're the most comfortable person to sleep on," he murmurs.

"Mmm," I say.

"Ben?"

"Hmm?"

"What you said before. All you have to give is love. I feel like that too. I take and you give. Don't know what I have to give you." His voice is getting quieter and quieter. I am stunned. Ray, you have given me so much. You have allowed me to love you. And you love me in return.

I can't get the words out. He sighs. "But love's enough, right, Ben?"

"And sex," I say unsteadily. He chuckles at that.

"Yeah."

"Ray?"

"Yeah?"

"You let me love you. That's what you give me."

"Fraser?"

"Hmm?"

"Turn out that light and kiss me, damn it."

"You swear too much, Ray."

"You talk too much, Ben."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I see one plot reason (aside from the Fraser-Welsh dynamic, which I have already mentioned pleases me) that I had Welsh know/guess about them. I mean, let's not kid ourselves: no matter which Ray it was, it's not a stretch to imagine Fraser getting The Call. Oh, _due South_ , how I love you. But here, clearly, since Welsh knew, well, of course he called Fraser.
> 
> And I think this encapsulates Ray Kowalski for me in one paragraph. <3 "What's to resolve? I love you, you love me. I want you, you want me. I annoy you, you annoy me. Your wolf whines at me, I whine at your wolf. Where you going with this, Ben?"


	18. Chapter 18

I wake to see sunshine streaming in through the window. Ben's already awake. He's got one hand behind his head as he stares at the ceiling. The other arm is around me, still holding me. He held me all night. I work my jaw, pulling the muscles of my face down tentatively. Feel the stitches pull but not too badly. A little stiff. I yawn and his arm tightens around me as he looks over at my face.

"How do you feel?"

"Never better, Frase. I think your observation technique's got the hospital's beat all to hell."

He answers my grin with a rueful chuckle. "I'm quite sure that the hospital would be dismayed to learn of your undoubtedly ill-advised activity."

"Well, jeez, why'd you think I wanted to come home?"

The grin fades from his eyes and mouth. "Home, Ray?"

I can't get him. "Yeah?"

"Wolf hair? No television? No furniture?"

"Cold as ice," I finish. I see where this is going. "At least you got a bathroom now." I've heard Vecchio go on about the communal bathroom. "Yeah, home, Fraser. Unless..." A cold thought strikes me. Is this his way of saying he needs space?

He sees the thoughts on my face almost as quickly as I think them, and he pulls me over to kiss me. "I think I need to find a larger place," he says. "More furniture. Perhaps a larger bed?"

"Oh, your bed is just the right size," I say wickedly, happy again. "And then there's always the bedroll thing." We're about to kiss again when another thought strikes me. "But I still need my own place, Frase. I mean, you know, we can't like actually move in together."

"No, I am aware of that, Ray. And we can go there to, er, watch television... I simply wondered which place was 'home.'"

Well, I'm not stupid. I know how to answer that. And I do, with tongue, hands, all stops pulled out.

Later he says, "You have a most detrimental effect on my character and my wolf's. It's eight in the morning and Diefenbaker is still asleep."

"Hey, maybe the wolf likes to sleep in too."

"Undoubtedly."

He is silent for a while and then says in a voice that he is trying to keep calm, "I've been thinking."

"Mmmhmm?"

"I have been trying to discern the cause of our argument the other night." I sigh heavily. It doesn't stop him. "I believe I have determined one cause." He rolls over and looks right at me. "I think I am afraid of losing what we were, although what we have now is... is..." He stops, then whispers, hoarsely, "Beyond words." His tone sends an eerie shiver up my spine. I don't know if I'm happy or scared to be responsible for that much feeling.

"What we were before? You mean, friends?"

"Friends."

"Partners?"

"Partners."

"Best friends?"

"That as well."

"Oh, Ben, why do we have to do the heavy stuff before coffee?" I groan. He smiles at that and slips out of bed to put the kettle on. Then he heads to his closet to pull some clothes on. I'm too warm and comfortable to move. I'm starting to like that scratchy Hudson blanket.

He feeds Dief and by then coffee is ready and he brings me a mug and sits down with me, sipping his tea. "I'll take Dief for a walk and then fix breakfast," he says. "A quick walk." And frowns at Dief, when he raises his head from his dish to whine.

"Sure, Frase."

"I feel compelled to remark that a few stitches seem to improve your ordinarily prickly disposition."

"I think it was the observation period," I say, happily, sleepily. Caffeine hasn't kicked in yet.

"Ah. Well, at any rate, don't try to shower until we return."

"Fraser!"

"I'll help you."

The thought of that stops me dead in my tracks. He knows it, too.

"Okay, but first thing I'm gonna show you is the hot water faucet," I say, trying to sound grumpy. "That's obviously a new concept. Guess they don't have hot water in Canada. Get out of here, freak. Take that wolf for a run."

And I sip my coffee and think about last night and the day to come. A few stitches are a small price to pay for this happiness. But next time it could be worse.

I push that thought away. After all, Dewey's not involved with a crazy Mountie and he made the same mistake. But I know, all the same, that wasn't like me. I've gotten used to having a Mountie watching my back. But then again I have to be able to function on my own. I can't get too dependent on Fraser, when I never know if he looked at Thatcher cross-eyed and might get unscheduled guard duty at the drop of a hat. And Vecchio, who at least can be depended on to watch my back, much as he hates doing it, is gone for two weeks.

Two whole weeks, give or take. Yeah. And I can't stop the grin from coming back.


	19. Chapter 19

_we move like cagey tigers_  
_we couldn't get closer than this_  
_the way we walk the way we talk_  
_the way we stalk the way we kiss . . ._  
_into the sea_  
_you and me_  
  
"The Lovecats," The Cure

* * *

 

It is quite a while after the shower before either of us can speak coherently. Oddly - because, after all, sex has never been a large part of my life before and I have never needed it to be - I can't get enough of the physical side of our relationship. Or perhaps it's because of the lack of that particular kind of activity in my life up until now that I can't. It's an interesting conundrum.

Ray is dozing again, on my chest, of course. I will need to prepare lunch soon but for now am content to just be, with my partner, my friend, my best friend. Involuntarily my arm tightens around him at that thought.

He grins a sleepy grin. "Hey, gotta breathe, Frase."

"Sorry, Ray. How are you feeling?"

"Fishing for compliments, Mountie?"

To my dismay, I feel a blush. How can he still make me blush, after all we have done together? "Er, no, Ray, I meant your stitches."

"What stitches?" He stretches and yawns, languorously, then turns over on his front, on his elbows, and regards me almost seriously.

"It was a rookie mistake, Fraser," he says quietly.

"So I was given to understand. Was it because of me? Us?"

"How do you do that, Fraser? How do you read my mind?" He sounds almost angry, somewhat scared.

I tell the truth. "I don't know."

He sighs, a deep sigh, and is silent for a long time.

"I don't know either. I think it was, and maybe it wasn't. Dewey made the same mistake and he's not sleeping over with a crazy Mountie and a deaf wolf. Is he?" He grins at me wickedly. I love that grin and I have to kiss him.

"Fraser! I'm trying to get serious and now you're getting sidetracked."

"You sidetrack me, Ray. Please continue."

"I mean, I don't think it was 'cause I was thinking about you or something dumb like that. But you know I'm not used to working with Dewey. Used to you, watching my back. And Vecchio. I never thought I could work with him but on some level we understand each other. An important, cop-type level. I'm not saying I could ever understand him otherwise."

I say nothing.

"But you gotta be able to work with everyone, when you're a cop. I guess I was just too comfortable - "

"Complacent," I interject. He sighs.

"Comfortable, I said, with us. A groove."

"Ray, we are partners. A groove is important." Whatever a groove is. "As long as it's not a rut."

He flashes a quick grin at that. "I think it got over being stale a long time ago. Not that it ever was. I just said that to tick you off." He is silent for a moment longer.

"You said partners. And friends?" His words are almost shy. I don't know what he means for a moment, and then remember this morning's conversation.

"I think so. I hope so."

"We said, this morning, best friends?" His voice is tentative, his eyes dropping to the pillow.

"I can't think of a better way to describe it, Ray."

He looks up at that and his mobile mouth curves into a delighted smile. "Best friend with benefits, huh, Frase." Obviously a secret joke.

"I admit to enjoying the benefits," I say solemnly. "Would those include being called a crazy Mountie every five minutes?"

"Oh, yeah." And his hand moves firmly down my abdomen, so unexpectedly that I gasp, and a moment later, moan. "And this would be another one, Ben," he says throatily as he leans down to kiss me. I can't wait for Ray Vecchio to return, to watch my Ray's back again, but ten days suddenly seems far too short a time to enjoy this bliss, unafraid, unworried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I knew how to make vids. Someday I'll learn. Because _Head Over Feet_ would be a great F/K vid. "You held your breath/and the door for me"... seriously, right?


	20. Trying To Keep An Eye On You

 

Fraser's looking a little confused when he comes into the bullpen; that could be my fault because I left the message with Turnbull, who was less than coherent. It's the usual uproar times ten, and it's a mostly happy uproar. We just cracked the counterfeiting ring, nineteen arrests, and with good solid evidence that ought to make Stella Kowalski's part in this go like a knife through butter. She's there and she's looking about as pleased as I've ever seen her, even smiling and making a comment to Kowalski from time to time, when she generally ignores him or cuts him off at the knees.

Fraser makes his way over to our desks and makes polite with Stella, says, "Hello Ray, hello, Ray." He always does that. Canadians got the weirdest senses of humour I ever saw.

"Hey, Benny! Did Turnbull give you the message? We made the arrests today - nineteen of them."

"So I gathered," Fraser says, looking around, obviously enjoying the hubbub. "That's an impressive number. You must have caught most of them."

"I think so, Benny. All the big fish, anyhow, and that's the important thing."

"Yeah, Fraser, and we got the stash, complete, right where you thought it would be," Kowalski chimes in. "Welsh was looking for you earlier."

Stella Kowalski speaks up. Sounds politer than she usually does. "So you figured out that they were using that abandoned coal plant? Nice work. We ought to be able to put most of them away for a while. We got the books, the contacts, even some of the engravings, although most ended up in the lake. But everything's pretty much intact."

"Well, I'm pleased to have been of service," Fraser says. Doing that modest Mountie thing he does. Except he means it. But I know that smile. Hey, cops like arrests. It's what we do.

By this time the lieutenant has caught sight of Fraser's coat. He'll never have to worry about being mistaken for a deer in that thing. Not that he has to worry about that in Chicago. He opens the door to his office and yells, "Vecchio! Kowalski! Constable! Front and center!"

Yeah. This is gonna put the kibosh on my contention that Kowalski and I shouldn't be partners. That was the little cloud in my own personal silver lining.

I hear Kowalski sigh. He knows it too. I see Stella pat him on the shoulder. It's an affectionate little gesture but he doesn't look too happy about it. Kind of looks right through her. And then I remember Fraser telling me that he's still in love with her.

Fraser, standing nearby, catches his eye, and in a misguided effort to rescue him, says, "After you, Ray," and steps back.

Stella looks at him and then back at Kowalski, with a little hostility towards Benny vibing out. She's never seemed too keen on the Mountie despite the fact that usually women can't stay away from him. Come to think of it, Louise never liked him either. But hell, _she_ didn't like anyone. Fraser seems unaware of her hostility and smiles and nods at her as he falls into step behind Kowalski. She sits back against Kowalski's desk, trying to see through the Mountie to Kowalski.

Welsh is being unusually jovial, which is to say that he only makes two or three comments on how badly the arrests were handled and the evidence was bagged, and then he gets down to the serious business.

"Vecchio, Kowalski, I'm pleased at how this partnership is working out. I think you can consider this assignment permanent."

Oh, yeah, great news, sir. I try to look pleased. I try not to look at Kowalski. He's not so good at hiding his emotions. But I look anyway and he looks neutral. Well, that's better than I thought. He's a better partner than I thought too. Goes a little too much on hunches, but I can't complain about that because before my assignment I trusted those hunches rock solid. But now I've learned to plan. Maybe I should take up chess.

"Vecchio, better than solid work. This kind of thing is going to look good at the promotion boards. You're getting organised.

"Kowalski, I'm impressed that no motorcycles or other police vehicles were utilised in your own inimitable fashion during the arrest. You're showing restraint." Kowalski grins at that, a comfortable grin, not his usual sarcastic one.

"And Constable Fraser, once again, despite the fact that I'm never entirely sure what you're doing here, you have managed to lick or sniff or deduce your way to the main printing press." Welsh is a whole lot different, at least around the Mountie, than he was before I left, but I've had time to get used to it. In fact, it's not bad.

Benny's turning bright red, his finger in the neck of his uniform. "Not at all, sir, just a fortunate happenstance that I recognised the ingredients of the dye used in the money, an uncommon combination and difficult to both come by and reproduce. After that the rest was quite easy to figure out with some leg work, and, in fact, most of the work was done by Detectives Vecchio, Kowalski, Huey, and Dewey."

"Well, write yourself a commendation and put it in the file with your reprimands, Constable," Welsh says. "I'll make it official with Inspector Thatcher. Big operation, gentlemen. Makes the department look good. Good work today. Go home."

That wasn't too bad, except the partnership thing, but I knew that was coming. Unfortunately Kowalski and I work well together except when we have to worry about protecting Benny who was, thank Mary, Joseph, and Jesus, safely in the Consulate today during the actual arrest.

Fraser's still doing that thank you kindly thing as Kowalski heads back to our desks. Stella's still sitting on the edge of Kowalski's desk. Yeah, I didn't think she'd leave. She wants to get Kowalski alone.

"You want to go get a drink?" she asks Kowalski in a low voice. He was way ahead of us. Don't know where he gets that energy. He doesn't answer right away and then she sees me and Fraser coming up behind Kowalski, realises I overheard, and instantly widens the invitation smoothly. "Come on, guys, my treat. This case is good and solid. I owe you one."

Kowalski looks at Fraser, then at me, trying to gauge our reactions. Fraser makes no move that I can see but I know him and I know he doesn't want to go, but he's also not going to make that decision for Kowalski. He always makes you decide for yourself. One of his more irritating traits, I've always thought. Making you see the best and worst of yourself even when you don't want to see it.

I shrug at Kowalski though because it's not like you want to be on the assistant state's attorney's bad side and we're already there enough because of Kowalski being her ex. Before the silence gets too long he says, "Sure, Stella, why not? I could use a cold one."

At the bar Stella's trying to do a little reminiscing but she's hampered by the fact that Kowalski's just not playing along. After the third awkward silence, which, oddly, Benny, who's usually much more talkative in these kinds of situations, does nothing to breach - he _really_ doesn't like her, I realise - I pick up the ball.

"What was with Welsh's crack about police vehicles?" I ask Kowalski.

He grins, relieved, kind of embarrassed. "I tried to wreck a uniform's motorcycle on one of our cases."

"How many guesses do I get to find out how Benny got you involved in that?" I ask.

Fraser meets this sally with a chuckle. "Actually, Ray, it was not my fault that time. I know you're surprised to hear that, Ray. My friend Quinn and I were kidnapped from the Consulate under Turnbull's very nose. The, er, criminal was trying to retrieve some stolen jewelry and he thought perhaps Quinn knew where it was. I just happened to be there."

"You usually do manage to be there, Benny," I say. "Also not surprising."

"So it deteriorated into a bad hostage situation," Kowalski says. "I didn't think we could wait for the SWAT team."

"Kowalski, once I heard the words _Benny_ and _kidnapping_ you don't even need to tell me that it deteriorated. Just tell me he didn't blow up your GTO."

"That was before I got the GTO back," Kowalski says, with a startled grin. He doesn't understand how I can joke about the Riv.

Yeah, me neither.

"So what about the motorcycle?" Stella asks. "I thought you'd given up that hobby, Ray."

He glances at her. "Yeah, I did. You know that. But, jeez, Stella, I can still ride one." He sounds a little impatient with her, and there she was trying to strike up some intimacy, some "I know more about you than these guys" conversation. Lovely. Now my official partner _and_  my unofficial partner are both ticking off the assistant state's attorney. I can't blame Benny though. He seems oblivious and perfectly polite, cool and proper, and she's coming across as a little bitchy in contrast.

"And so he did," Fraser says, finally getting into his storytelling voice. "Right through a large window in the warehouse. And he nearly landed on top of the, er, gentleman threatening us. It was quite foolhardy. As I believe I've mentioned more than a few times." And he quirks his eyebrow at Kowalski, who just grins.

I'm just staring at Kowalski. And here I thought Benny was the weird one, the 'leap before you look' guy. "You better not try that stuff with me or this partnership is _over_ ," I say.

He gets a little defensive, not as much as he would have a couple weeks ago. "Guy was threatening to shoot someone, and then we heard shots. There just wasn't time. You know how fast something like that can go down, Vecchio."

"Benny's right. Foolhardy. What were you thinking, Kowalski? That you hadn't used up all of your nine lives?"

He looks down at his beer, quickly, and then back up with a grin that looks like it's firmly in place. "Hey, you know, that's a... that's a thing I do. Act first, think later."

Ooooh, leaving himself wide open for one from the ex. But she doesn't take the shot, just smiles at him. But... he's not looking at her so he doesn't notice.

"Foolhardy and courageous, and undoubtedly Quinn and I owe him our lives," Fraser says lightly. I happen to look up at that second and I see Kowalski look at Fraser with something uncomfortably like warmth in his eyes as Fraser takes another sip of his orange juice and misses the look completely.

I'm trying to make sense of that look as Benny finally gets his manners out and begins asking Stella about this case. She chats for a while with Fraser and me, mostly; Kowalski's polite but doesn't seem interested even though she seems to be coming onto him in a more than subtle kind of way. She's a looker. I wonder how he can pretend not to be interested. Either he's still way in love with her and doesn't want her to know it or else he's not in love with her at all and doesn't care if she knows it. But Fraser said Kowalski told him that he was.

I don't know what to think. The body language is wrong for both of them.

Finally Stella finishes her G&T and gets to her feet, not quick enough for Fraser, who - as usual - is already standing by the time she's halfway up. She looks a little surprised and nods at him, then asks Kowalski, in a way that doesn't allow a no, to walk her to her car, which is still parked up the street at the station.

Fraser watches them go with little frown as he sits back down.

"She's making a play for him," I say. "She do that often? I thought it was over."

He looks back at me. "No, she doesn't do that often. And yes, I too thought it was over. The last time she was this nice to him was after we, er, arrested her, er, boyfriend, a city councilman, for fraud, about a year and a half ago. She was being stalked at the time by someone else." He grins before I can say it and says, "No, not Ray. Someone was trying to kill her and we found a bomb in her apartment."

"So she gave him a warm happy out of gratitude?"

"I really can't speculate on such a thing, Ray," he says firmly, blushing.

"Well, guess he needs to take his career a little more seriously if he wants her back and that's how to get her interested," I say idly. I see a flash in Fraser's eyes, too quick for me to recognise or define. Almost a flash of anger, but Fraser doesn't get angry. He does seem kind of protective though, and I already sussed out that he doesn't like Stella. And, hell, maybe he doesn't like seeing Kowalski get his chain jerked.

"I think he does take his career seriously," Fraser says.

"Yeah, I guess. Motorcycles through windows, I dunno, Fraser. He sounds like the perfect partner for you. How did you two survive? At least you only jump out of them."

He grins. "He is less impetuous now than he was then."

"Guess it's your influence, Benny."

Not that I've seen any evidence of that restraint Fraser or Welsh was talking about. Almost the worst part of going out with them together is trying to keep an eye on Kowalski. When he's around Fraser he acts crazy. They've been working together long enough that he ought to know Fraser can't resist sticking his nose into every dangerous situation in Chicago, but Kowalski seems to take it personally.

I shake my head and finish my beer. "I'm heading out. It's too nice a day to be sitting in a bar. I'll see if Laura'd like a walk in the park."

"Excellent idea, Ray. Undoubtedly Diefenbaker is thinking along the same lines." Fraser gets to his feet as well. Guess he's not waiting for Kowalski. Well, if Kowalski has any sense he'll play kiss and make up with Madam Assistant State's Attorney, if gratitude's her thing.

"You want a ride, Benny?"

"Ray, you just finished telling me what a beautiful day it is. What do you think?" And he smiles at me.

"Yeah, you got me, Benny. Have a nice walk. See you tomorrow."

"Likewise, Ray." And we turn in opposite directions outside the bar, Dief bounding ahead of Fraser. He knows they're heading home. I'm almost back at the station when I see Stella take off in a screech of tires. She looks pissed. Kowalski's standing in the parking lot looking uncomfortable. Guess he's not going for kiss and make up.

"That good mood didn't last long," I say, walking past him.

"It never does, with me and Stella," he says, quiet, falling into step with me almost automatically as we walk down the parking lot. Then out of the blue he says, "I wish Ange was my ex."

"Yeah, I could tell. You were pretty generous over that alimony, Kowalski."

He grins at me.

"But she's a nice ex," I say.

We stop by his car. He looks around, like he's noticing where he is for the first time. "Where's the Mountie? Did he go home?"

"Yeah. Said Dief wanted a walk. You ought to go home too, enjoy your afternoon off."

"Yeah, Dief probably would." He sounds a little lost, a little forlorn.

I look at him curiously and he won't meet my eyes. I stop and think a second. I start putting pieces of the puzzle together.

Organised. Yeah. Finally.

He looks at me at last and his eyes tell me all I need to know. Panic, fear, and blazing anger.

"It's not Stella," I say slowly.

"Just shut up, Vecchio."

"You're not in love with her any more. But you told Benny you were." I'm thinking out loud. And to myself. Why would a guy look at another guy like that? Why would a guy drive a motorcycle through a freaking window?

"Hell, yes, I'm still in love with her," he says, still angry, very uneasy. "Anyone can see that."

"It's Benny," I say slowly, thoughts flying through my head. "It's Benny you want. And you told him that so he wouldn't know. So he wouldn't know about you."

"What, are you nuts? Jesus, Vecchio, I'd take Stella back in a heartbeat if she really wanted me but she doesn't. She just likes to yank my chain."

"I don't think you would. I think I'm right."

"Well, what you _think_ leaves me cold, Vecchio, 'cause you're wrong about all of it!"

"No, I'm not. Jesus, Kowalski, are _you_ nuts? You know how cops are about that kind of stuff!"

"What kind of stuff? My ex-wife's the assistant state's attorney? No one has a problem with that but me!"

He's almost as good at deflecting as Fraser.

"The fact that your feelings for Fraser seem to be a little more than friendly," I hiss, remembering we're in the parking lot right next to the station and keeping my voice low.

"He's a _guy_ , Vecchio. Like, duh! I was married!"

"And now you're _not_. And she makes a play for you and you act like you got ice water in your veins."

He's so mad now that I can see the effort it takes for him to open his mouth and talk. "Yeah, I'm finally getting smart about Stella. She wants it on her terms. I can't do that. Thought I could, thought it would be enough, but it's not. It's emotional distance."

The way he brings that out sounds like he's quoting something, but I'm not following that fake lead. And the rest of it sounds like the truth, but I think there's more to it than that. It's hard to worry about an ex-wife who usually treats you like dirt when you got a crush on your partner. I've seen it happen before. It doesn't usually end happy.

And it's even worse for two guys.

Two _guys_. Fraser. _Benny_.

The pity I was starting to feel for him drains away instantly. "Well, if I were you I'd rethink that. You and Stella got feelings for each other, work through them and leave Fraser the hell alone!"

"I got nothing to do with Fraser!"

"You know what, Kowalski? I've been a cop for a long time. I never met a partner who'd drive a motorcycle through a window!"

"You blew up your damn Riv!"

"That was different! I had no choice! You did. You could've waited for the SWAT team."

"The guy was fucking _crazy_! You weren't there! He was on my cell phone, he-he was firing at them. Ben was - they would've been dead by the time the SWAT team bothered to show up!"

" _Fraser_ would have been dead," I say, watching him narrowly.

He pales, flinches.

"Oh, shit, Kowalski, you are a goddamn _stupid_ asshole!"

He whirls on me, his fists almost flying. I duck instinctively. "You think I _wanted_ this?" Kowalski snarls at me. "I was married, man! You think I like having to admit this to myself? To anyone? Especially you?" He's right up in my face, so mad, so upset, he's shaking, and he's not putting that on.

But I'm good and mad in return. "Yeah, I do," I say, angrier than I've been in a long time. "'Cause I can't imagine the Mountie coming up with this kind of thing. And I'd've thought if you really cared, you'd leave him alone. And you'd _better_ leave him alone, before this goes any further. Fraser's straighter than an arrow. You're letting the both of you in for a bad time all around. He'll transfer right back to Canada faster than you can say 'Stella Kowalski'."

His hands are balled into fists. There's a vein throbbing in his temple. He jerks his eyes from mine, looks at the ground, then looks back at me. "You're right."

He's still mad. But now he sounds sorry.

Suddenly, for some strange reason, Fraser's damn Code pops into my head. I don't know why. I refuse to believe that Kowalski could _possibly_ be shielding Benny - Benny, who probably doesn't even know what two guys do together! He's not making me believe that _Benny_ came up with this. That Benny lov- no, can't get that word in my head - that Benny wants a guy. Especially skinny-ass Kowalski, who makes bag ladies look dapper. Jesus, Benny had Victoria, who was mean as a snake and a psycho from hell, but she was a beautiful woman.

Then the awful thought pops into my head that maybe Benny _did_ come up with this. After all, Kowalski's about the polar opposite of Victoria.

"I'm not like this," he mutters. "Stella was all I ever wanted."

I can't look at Kowalski. I feel sick. "If you let him alone," I say unsteadily, "he'll find a nice girl and settle down." I want to puke.

"I'm not bugging him," Kowalski says stubbornly. "He wants to find a nice girl, more power to him. But you - _you_ stay out of this. You tell him, I'll cap you. That's all."

And for a minute, I believe him. In fact I'm a little shaken by the utter certainty in his eyes.

"Stay out of it," he repeats. "Fraser doesn't need this crap."

But I have a new quest. I have to find out. I got an insatiable curiosity, what can I say? And then there's just the minor little fact that I could be watching my best friend's life go down the tubes and I did nothing to stop it. And so I watch 'em. Closer than I ever have before. Benny seems oblivious. He smiles at Kowalski, smiles at me. Touches Kowalski on the arm, touches me. Includes me in Kowalski's invitations; includes Kowalski in mine. I see Kowalski look at him with that warmth in his eyes, but I already know about that. But I can't tell if the warmth in Benny's eyes is a response to that or not.

So I take to dropping in on Benny more than I ever did, day and night. Kowalski's at his place a lot, like always. But they're always dressed. And they always seem to be talking. When I can't find Benny I scrutinise him and Kowalski for signs the next day. I don't see any more hickeys though. I know he's always spent a lot of time at the library, could be there. I got almost no excuses to cover dropping in on Kowalski, but that doesn't stop me. He plays darts, billiards - who the hell plays billiards? What's wrong with pool? After I run into them 'by accident' a couple of times at the bar where he plays, I can tell Kowalski is getting madder and madder at me.

One morning, after Fraser leaves for the Consulate, he leans over my desk and hisses, "Let up on him, man! I told you, it's my problem! You think he doesn't know you're watching him? He notices everything, Vecchio. He's too polite to get mad at you, but I'm not. And how's he going to feel when he realises what you're thinking?"

But I'm too mad, too worried to think about that. What I do know is that Benny is happier than I've ever seen him... and it coincides with Kowalski's return. Too many things are falling into place. So is it a buddy thing for the world's straightest Mountie, or is it more? I mean, any normal guy - but Benny's _not_ normal.

Hell... he's not. Would Benny even think that sex with a guy was abnormal? I mean, aside from him possibly thinking that all sex is abnormal, after the working over Victoria gave him. I wonder what the Inuit think of it. If his grandmother covered that topic. I shudder. It's entirely possible up there in the frozen north that no one cares who you're with as long as you're warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vecchio's voice is a lot harder for me than Fraser's or Kowalski's. I think I came closest to it with this line: "This is gonna put the kibosh on my contention that Kowalski and I shouldn't be partners. That was the little cloud in my own personal silver lining."
> 
> Re: Easy Money. For a lot of F/K fans, including most definitely myself, this was one of the most compelling argument for F/K. Ray _drove a motorcycle through a window_ into a completely unknown situation because he thought Fraser's life was in danger.  <3 <3 <3
> 
> And Vecchio, being a cop and realising from inside the cop profession what exactly that meant? Yeah. He's not stupid. This wasn't jumping to conclusions or putting pieces together. This was an in-your-face motorcycle-through-a-window.


	21. Chapter 21

 

The strain is beginning to tell on Ray. He's nervous; he jumps at every noise. But he's fiercely, stubbornly loyal. It's his fault Ray Vecchio guessed, or so he believes, but he will not take the ultimate step, the step that I believe we will have to take, because he doesn't know Ray Vecchio as I do. This will never die, will never be dropped until Ray Vecchio is convinced, one way or another, that he has found out the truth.

Yet despite the danger we cannot stay away from each other, and I am just as much to blame for that as he is, if not more. Having found love, I can't give it up. It's difficult enough to have to conceal it, every minute of every day, rarely being allowed to relax and be comfortable in it; to revel in it, as we did while Ray Vecchio was away. But I know that I should, and I must, end this, either by telling Ray Vecchio the truth or in a way that will let Ray Vecchio think that he has found out the truth; and salvage Ray's career in the bargain. For I have no illusions about the treatment Ray Kowalski will receive at the hands of the Chicago Police Department, and I can't allow someone I love to be destroyed for loving me.

I am torn between confessing all to Ray Vecchio - and trusting in his friendship, his warm heart - and accepting a transfer to Ottawa. The problem with the first solution is that I don't know, exactly, how homophobic Ray Vecchio is. That is a large variable. The problem with the second is that protecting Ray Kowalski from Ottawa will be difficult, not to say impossible. Even if I leave, Vecchio might still start rumors. He might, in fact, take out some of his anger at my departure on Ray Kowalski by doing so. A third option - staging some sort of not-quite-confession for Ray Vecchio to overhear - is more than distasteful to me, and I'm not entirely sure that Ray Vecchio would not see through it anyway; if, that is, Ray and I could be convincing. However, the thought of my cabin, awaiting us, entices my thoughts from these knottier problems. I am determined not only to have Ray accompany me, but to do so with Ray Vecchio's assent.

~~~

"I'm going to invite you to go with me," Fraser repeats stubbornly.

"Yeah, right, Frase. In front of Vecchio. It's too dangerous."

"I'm not going without you. And I think he would be much more apt to suspect something if you disappear on vacation at the same time. remember the purloined letter."

"Fraser, he's never gonna buy it."

"Keep in mind that he has an exceptionally warm heart, Ray. And he thinks I'm a big, dumb Mountie." It does amaze me that Vecchio doesn't see Fraser's dry sense of humour, that he doesn't realise that Fraser observes _everything_ , including people's behaviour and reactions. Fraser grins at me, almost wickedly, like he's copying me. "Just follow my lead. Look wistful."


	22. I'll Show You In Spring

_I'll show you in spring_  
_it's a treacherous thing_  
"The Lovecats," The Cure

* * *

 

"Really, Fraser?" I say, surprised. Because, like, he never takes time off. I mean, we tried, that time the plane got hijacked. And I know he went up there right when I took the undercover assignment. But that's been it.

"Well, yes, Ray. I haven't been there in a while. It still needs work." He just raises that eyebrow at me. "And I have promised to visit my sister." I see Kowalski look up from his desk across from mine, at me, then him, a frown on his face. I keep forgetting Fraser has a sister.

"It needs a lot of work, Fraser. Wish I hadn't just taken time off. I mean, not that I wish I didn't just go on vacation, of course. Just that I'd go with you, help you out a little. I'd like to meet your sister, too."

Fraser's looking at me, smiling, and I know he's remembering. "I don't know if my cabin could take another one of your visits, Ray," he says. "Still, I wish you could."

"Hey, you blew up my car. Obviously I saw that coming. That was prior revenge."

"That's silly, Ray. You blew up your own car."

Kowalski's clearly feeling left out. He mutters something about lunch and gets up. Fraser looks over quickly. Oh, no, Fraser, I think. No, no, no! Don't do it! But strangely I feel better. There's no way Fraser would invite Kowalski along if they really were... well, anyway, he would be worried about how it might look. Possibly. Maybe. So maybe there's nothing to worry about after all, at least on Fraser's side. Possibly.

"How about you, Ray?" Fraser asks hopefully. Then looks uncomfortable. "Not that you'd want to spend your vacation time in a cold cabin with no indoor plumbing," he says, sounding dejected. "I did, however, build a small addition with real toilet facilities and a back door," he adds, hopeful again. "Not running water, but a very nice composting toilet." But he's giving Kowalski an out. I glare at Kowalski, who looks at me, then back at Fraser. Then at me again, and drops his eyes.

"You're right, Frase," he says. "I'm not into cold."

Fraser looks crestfallen for a moment before he remembers his manners. "That's perfectly understandable, Ray. Americans just don't appreciate the snow. Do you know the Inuit have over sixty-"*

"I like snow, Fraser," Kowalski interrupts, getting mad for some reason. I never know what'll set him off. "You're always saying stuff like that! I even know how to ski!"

"Do you like to ski, Ray?" Fraser asks eagerly. The big lug wants someone to go with him. That's what it is. Why can't he find a nice willing woman to take with him? I bet I could put him on a street corner with a sign, Going to Canada, Would Like Company, No Running Water, and there'd be fifty women inside of five minutes arguing over who gets to go. "Alpine or cross country?"

"Both, Frase."

"I could teach you to snowshoe," Fraser offers. Again Kowalski hesitates. I know he wants to say yes, I know why, but it seems like he really does want to learn to snowshoe and go to Canada and be cold and ski, for what reason I will never understand. Probably something to do with all that energy he has. He looks at me, almost pleading. Like he's trying to tell me something with his eyes. But he waits too long to answer and Fraser looks down at the floor.

"I'm sorry, Ray. It's impolite to keep reiterating an invitation. Shall we get some lunch?"

I can tell Fraser's feelings are very hurt, but it's for his own good.

Over lunch Kowalski manages to bring up mountains somehow. Or is it glaciers? "They have glaciers in Canada, Frase?" he's asking.

"Of course, Ray. Why wouldn't we?"

"Yeah, and Inuit women hang out on 'em giving birth," I interrupt. That was a mistake. Benny corrects me - "That was a glacier field, Ray," like the difference is important, and starts telling Kowalski about the most courageous act he's ever seen in his life. Kowalski looks almost... wistful.

"But it's cold up there," I remind Kowalski. He looks away.

"Yeah," he says shortly.

"My cabin is actually quite warm, now that it's rebuilt," Fraser says defensively. "And the drafty bullet holes are gone."

And as Kowalski opens his mouth to ask, we both start telling him about the seven snowmobiles and Gerrard and frozen caribou. It's pretty fun and I realise that I really would like to go back there some time, maybe in summer, if, that is, they have summer in Canada, which I doubt.

Kowalski's been hanging on every word, even mine, and as we finish up, he looks at me again. If it were possible, I'd say he was pleading with me. And trying to tell me something with those eyes, those eyes that are really very similar to the Mountie's. I can't stand it any more. I shrug at him. I'm stupid. But that looked like a promise to me.

"Perhaps one of you will be able to come next time," Fraser's saying.

"Uh, Frase... if you still want me to... I'll give it a try. I'd like to see those glaciers. Mountains. Snowshoe. I got lots of vacation time."

Fraser looks absolutely delighted. "Are you sure, Ray? Did I mention the fact that there is no running water?"

"Yeah, Frase, I think Vecchio mentioned it about twenty times. I've been camping. It's cool." And he looks wryly at me, thanking me with those eyes. I try to give him a warning with mine, and he drops his. Later I get him alone.

"Remember. You just keep your hands - and everything else - to yourself."

"You think I want to hurt Fraser?" he growls at me. "I know he's the world's straightest Mountie. And I know you don't want to believe this, but I'm straight too. I just have to deal, that's all." After a minute, he adds, "Besides, I'd like see Maggie again."

Normally I would never have a conversation with him now that doesn't involve police work or Fraser, but I'm curious. And something in the way he says her name makes me think that maybe there was something there for him. So I actually open my mouth and ask, "What's she like?"

He considers for a moment. "A lot like Fraser. Shorter, of course. She licks stuff too." He pauses a second at that, with a small smile and I'm even more curious. "She knows everything and everyone. And of course she's gorgeous. Little whacked out. Doesn't have a wolf, or at least she didn't." He shrugs. "She reforms people, too."

"That's pretty scary," I say. "Two Frasers. Whoa."

"Yeah, I didn't think the world was big enough," he agrees.

And for a minute we almost bond. I don't like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * [Franz Boas and Inuktitut Terminology for Ice and Snow: From the Emergence of the Field to the “Great Eskimo Vocabulary Hoax”](http://link.springer.com/chapter/10.1007%2F978-90-481-8587-0_16)


	23. It's These Little Things

_You're the best listener that I've ever met_  
_You're my best friend_  
_Best friend with benefits_  
  
"Head over Feet," Alanis Morissette

* * *

 

Knowing that Ray is a self-professed "city boy," I'm amazed at how well he's dealing with the wilderness, and the cabin, and the solitude, and, of course, the snow. He is determinedly learning to snowshoe. He's begun to learn some dog sledding with my team that a nearby neighbour keeps for me. Really, by now, they are his dogs, but I like to think some of them remember me, and Diefenbaker keeps them running well in harness. We keep the woodpile stocked to the crashing sounds of someone Ray refers to, almost reverently, as 'The Boss,' whose music, unfamiliar to me as it is, does, I must admit, make the work go faster and adds a certain primal urge to the night. We work on the cabin, too, building more shelves and some furniture. And every night...  _every_ night, and often in the day, we take solace in each other, enjoying our freedom in the silence, the solitude.

He's writing away at the table as I sit with my thoughts. He has begun to keep a journal; he's thrilled that I do, and that my father did. He enjoys reading my father's journals, as do I. He wants to have adventures like that, he says, but meanwhile he's writing down some of the adventures we've already had on the Chicago streets.

I would never have dreamed that Ray Kowalski, bundle of energy, could be at peace in the wilderness with no electricity, no television, no phone, no noise, except for the aptly named boombox. He wouldn't leave that behind, and I think half his bag was batteries for it. I think idly about rigging the generator to run again. It hasn't been used in years, more than four now, but we might be able to get it going. And then I happily bring myself back to the present, back to contemplation of Ray.

He may be at peace but he's not still. He is never still. Even now, writing, he is tapping his booted foot against the leg of the bench in time to the song he is listening to, and singing along with, almost under his breath. "...no retreat, believe me, no surrender..." His hands, his expressive, slender hands, are rarely still either, and right now one is tapping the pen in time. He sees me watching him and looks up. "What? What're you sitting over there grinning about, you big dumb Mountie? I know I can't carry a tune in a bucket." He grins wickedly at me. I know it's an invitation.

"Yes, you can, and I'm looking at you, of course," I say to no one's surprise. "I suppose... it's that I have never seen you so at peace, Ray."

He squirms uncomfortably. "I guess - I guess I can kind of see where you get your... your center, Frase. Why you're so peaceful. You can't not be, here."

"No television?" I tease. "No Chinese? No pizza?"

"Well, jeez, Fraser, I'm not saying it's perfect or anything. But your cooking's not so bad and I'm so hungry all the time it doesn't matter anyhow."

"Thank you kindly," I say, raising an eyebrow. He laughs at me.

"Cut that out. You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do. You have quite an active metabolism, Ray."

He shakes his head and sighs."That's not what I said." 

I laugh in return."No, I know, Ray." And I can't hide the complacence and happiness in my voice. He bounces up from the bench and crosses the floor in two swift strides.

"Well, if you're gonna laugh at me, you're gonna have to kiss me to make up for my hurt feelings," he says, dropping to the floor beside me, and turning my face to meet his.

"You laughed first," I feel compelled to point out, but the rest of my sentence is lost in his mouth.


	24. Chapter 24

We've just settled down to some serious kissing and stuff in front of the wood stove when we hear the dogs go off. It's late afternoon, not quite dark yet. Dief raises his head, looks at Fraser, and then at the door. Selective deafness, _I_ always think. Fraser gets to his feet in a swift, smooth motion, reaching for the rifle on the mantel, his eyes darkening. That's what Chicago's done to him. I feel a little panicked, a little left out. He's looking so serious. And I don't even have my boot gun: had to leave 'em all in Chicago. He looks down at me, motions me to crawl over to the other window, and he crosses to the door in a rush.

We can hear someone yelling but can't make out anything, the wind's picking up. But Fraser relaxes enough to cross the room again and replace the rifle. Then he opens the door, with enough sense at least not to stand fully in the opening, but to one side.

It's another dog team, with sled and rider. He pulls his boots and his coat on almost in one swift motion. "I don't know those dogs," he mutters, almost to himself. Yeah, I bet he thinks he knows every dog in the Territory. "And there's a storm coming." The snowstorm he's been promising me - oh, yeah, I'm excited. "Who would be-"

"That stupid?" I finish, but he's already stepped out the door, pulling his Stetson on.

I'm not going out there. I just got warm and dry, and I was looking forward to some before-dinner snacks. So I pull my boots and coat on and follow him, stomping over the ground. Whoever it is, Fraser knows him, and he hugs him, which surprises me 'cause Fraser's affectionate but he's not touchy-feely, not even with me. By the time I get out there, they've headed to the barn with the dog team. I know from watching Fraser that the first thing they're going to do is feed and water the dogs.

But by now I'm pretty sure I know who would be nuts enough to come all this way on a sled with a storm brewing by this time and get a hug from Fraser to boot, and I'm right. It's Maggie Mackenzie. She and Fraser are talking a mile a highly-technical minute about her lead dog by the time I get to the barn. Her hood's back, her cheeks are flushed, and she's gorgeous and I don't even notice. That's pretty sad, Kowalski, I tell myself.

She greets me with a handshake, and then with a hug, although I know she's no more touchy-feely than her brother is, and for a second I wonder if she knows. 

"We were planning to visit _you_ ," Fraser's saying.

"This is going to be a big storm," she says. "It would be just my luck that you'd be snowed in until your holiday was over."

Nope, she doesn't know. Being snowed in with Ben would be the icing on the cake for my own personal vacation experience.

Her dogs are wolfing their food. Her lead dog finishes first as Maggie and Ben stand around him watching him eat. They're talking about bloodlines and the Iditarod winner. Maggie's hoping to compete in it next year, I gather. "Something I've always wanted to do," she ends.

Fraser smiles. "Yes, so have I." He clears his throat. "Someday, perhaps. It takes time to build a team like yours."

"I'll let you give them a try tomorrow," Maggie promises.

"Does your lead dog come in?" Fraser asks politely. I have to grin at that, the Yukon equivalent of "May I take your coat?"

"No, I don't think Dief would like that," Maggie says. "He'll do fine in here."

"Then let's get some tea on for you," Fraser says, and we all walk back into the rapidly gathering darkness. I feel some snow starting to swirl down. Fraser and Maggie both cock their eyes at the sky with almost identical eyebrows. "About sixteen hours," Fraser says.

"Probably," Maggie agrees.

"Sixteen hours of what?" I ask.

"Snow," they say together.

I can't believe my ears. The snow's already level with the porch, although I've heard Fraser say that it was a cold winter. "Um, that's a lot more snow, there, Frase."

Fraser looks at me, smiling affectionately. "Snowed in? What did you think it meant, Ray? That we wouldn't be able to shovel a path to the sidewalk and school would be closed? That's why we chopped and brought all that wood in today."

"But - but - but-"

"It won't be the first time," Fraser assures me.

"You're endangering my life in wildly bizarre ways again, Frase," I grumble as I follow them to the cabin.

"Oh, there's no danger, Ray. None at all," Fraser says cheerfully. "I would be surprised if it wasn't over by morning."

Yeah, I've heard _that_ before. "Suffocation by snow. When does it stop snowing in Canada? July?"

"Sometimes," Maggie agrees, with the same deadpan expression I see on her brother's face a lot.

We're about finished with dinner - Maggie's a better cook than Fraser and made some kind of pan bread to go with the stew - when Fraser and Maggie both start interspersing their conversation with longer pauses. I listen and think I can hear a third conversation going on in between what we're talking about and I look around for that nonexistent shimmer. Might be over by the wood stove. I get up, reach for the plates, forestalling Fraser.

"You go talk to your sister and whoever," I say, jerking my head towards the rug by the stove. "It's my turn for K.P." He looks at me with an indrawn breath, so happy, so handsome, so beautiful, that it's all I can do to keep from grabbing him right then and there and to hell with his sister and the nonexistent ghost. I almost have to pinch myself.

"All right, Ray," he says. "Thank you." He touches his fingers to mine briefly before turning to pick up his mug of tea, motioning to the wood stove with his head. "Shall we, Maggie?"

I finish the dishes and I put the kettle on 'cause I know Fraser'll want more tea soon. Then I go to get more snow to melt in the big pot. They really weren't kidding, which I knew. The snow's drifting halfway up the door when I open it, and they pause to look up and see when I do. Then they listen and I imagine I can hear their dad saying something Mountie-like like "It reminds me of the Great Blizzard of..." and I smile to myself.

I wipe down the table and I pull out my boombox and put on some music, quiet, and get out my journal and my pen and sit and think for a while. The drawbacks of a one-room cabin. I can't give them any more privacy than that. And Fraser and I sure won't have any. I wonder if we could build on a bedroom, I think, and lose myself in happy daydreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I added Maggie in, LaT said, "You're the only person I know who would send Fraser and Ray to Canada to be alone, _finally_ \- and then have Maggie show up."


	25. Chapter 25

I watch Maggie and my father converse. He's telling her about tracking a bandit through a late spring blizzard like this one. I've heard the story so I allow my mind to wander. Maggie has taken in the fact that there is one bed and one bedroll, but other than a flicker in her eyes there is no other reaction nor any comment. I'd already written to her and explained, as best I could, the rearrangements in my personal life, although I wasn't sure how she would react. But she's here, and she seems comfortable with me, so evidently she is able to accept it, in theory, of course. I doubt she could handle any actual displays of affection, and it's difficult to remember that I can't touch him and kiss him, as we have had the freedom to do in the past week. However, it's good to be reminded, as well, since we must return to Chicago, and our life of careful subterfuge, soon.

I pull the guitar over to me and start tuning it quietly. Maggie's laughing out loud at something our shameless father has said. Still, the stories are fresh, to her. I should make copies of his journals. She'll undoubtedly enjoy them.

Dad sees me with the guitar. "That's right!" he says. "Some real music, not that electronic nonsense, in boxes!"

Maggie smiles. "What songs do you know, Ben?"

"He knows 'em all," Dad says. "Play the train song, son. Maggie, did I ever tell you about the Great Yukon Double Douglas Fir Telescoping Bank Shot?"

By train song he means of course "Blue Alberta Skies," which, as I have admitted to Ray, is a personal favourite, so I begin playing it. Maggie doesn't know all the words, but Dad and I make up for it and soon she is managing the chorus. We move on to various Mountie favourites, and soon are making far too much noise for Ray to continue to tactfully ignore. He jumps up and in two or three strides has joined us on the rug.

"'S nice, Frase," he says. "Keep going." And unfortunately we can neither of us hide the warmth in our eyes from Maggie, who looks away, perhaps a trifle embarrassed.

I start on "Oh, Canada," which is guaranteed to calm Maggie down and annoy Ray. Dad sings with great feeling and Maggie's happy too. Ray looks disgusted. He gets up to refill our mugs.

"Yank's a good man," Dad comments, watching him walk to the stove. "Tactful."

"Sometimes," I concur.

Maggie says nothing, and I cannot read her eyes. "Any requests?" I ask her. She smiles at me then.

"Just keep doing what you're doing, Ben."

Ray returns with all three mugs. "The cage one, Frase."

I think for a moment and then I remember. I haven't played that since the night Ray gave me the guitar. His reaction to it was... touching and disconcerting. But he looks hopeful. Abashed. And he doesn't look away. Maggie clears her throat, which breaks my stasis, and I start to play. I'm not very surprised that Maggie knows the song, and she sings quietly with me. Ray has rolled onto his stomach and is staring at the stove, at nothing, his head turned away from us. My father is being unusually silent... ah. He's disappeared again. By the time we've finished, Ray is resting his forehead against his clenched fist, which is resting on the floor, tension evident in his shoulders, the corner of his eye that is visible squeezed tightly shut.

"Ray?" Maggie says softly.

"Yeah," he says, huskily, not looking at us, not opening his eyes. "Love - love that song, Frase. Keep doing more. You know any more by that guy?"

Maggie and I look at each other and I shrug. She reaches a hesitant hand out and smooths it across his shoulders. I see the crease appear in his cheek, evidence of a grin. "I'm good, Maggie. S'okay. Bet you can't do 'I've Been Working on the Railroad."

As usual, Ray manages to break the tension and we both smile as I strum the chorus.

It's quite late before we have exhausted my current repertoire. Maggie has returned from the bathroom and is breaking out her bedroll. I look at Ray. He grins at me.

"Maggie, usually I sleep in the bed," he says. "Not like your nutty brother and his bedroll thing. But you can have the bed for tonight if you want and I'll do the bedroll thing." Naturally we don't mention the fact that the bedroll usually ends up occupied by both of us in its normal position by the bed.

There's some heightened colour in her face, but that could be because of the exertion. "No, thank you, Ray. I prefer the floor too."

"Two nuts," Ray mutters as she unrolls her bedroll on the other side of the wood stove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I gave Ride Forever a different name here. Maybe I was trying to AU it, because I'm pretty sure I knew it wasn't a diner.


	26. Chapter 26

Fraser is up at dawn, as usual, and I'm kind of surprised Maggie isn't, although we were up pretty late last night. I wake up too, which is just proof of what a bad influence Fraser is on me. Fraser is getting ready for his snow shower or whatever he calls it. I can't even face that idea. Brrrrrr! He says it gets your circulation flowing and increases your skin's respiration rate and a bunch of other stuff. Whatever. But I like to watch him out there rolling in the snow, stark naked.

He has to tunnel a little out the front door. Dief's already done some of the work. The snow isn't quite up to the tops of the windows so I can see a little bit of the sky, which is still cloudy and grey. He comes in, strips down, heads back out. He's back in a few minutes, red, glowing, happy and so beautiful I feel an instant response. He gets dressed quickly, then gets his snowshoes. "I'm going to check the dogs," he mouths at me, hefting a gallon-sized thermos of hot water over his shoulder. I nod and smile. After he leaves I head to the john - well, it's really a composting toilet but it's apparently a great improvement over the previous option, which was an outhouse - and get dressed. Find my boots and my snowshoes and head out to see what the snow looks like. And now I realise why the Inuit have over sixty words for snow.

I can see Ben digging his way down to the barn and I follow him over. At least I only trip every third step now. The dogs are barking as I get nearer. They know someone's come to feed them. And it occurs to me that now I know why all the doors open inwards. That's pretty cool.

"Hello, Ray," Fraser says, flushed, happy, his eyes bluer than blue against the snow. "I didn't think you'd be able to get out of that warm bed."

"Well, hey, never been literally snowed in before. I got to at least see it. Need help?"

He leans into the hole for a moment. "No, thank you, I'm almost there. It's a dry snow. Easy to shovel."

"Yeah, I keep hearing it's a dry cold, too. I don't see how that makes a difference."

And he starts to tell me about humidity, and then goes on to temperature inversions and the Elias Mountains and by that time we're in the barn. I start feeding them - you have to feed each one individually - while Fraser pours the hot water into another big pot of snow to make more water for them. Then he helps me fill their bowls and we get to the last one at the same time. I grin at him and he turns from dumping the food in and grabs me in almost the same motion and we're kissing and it's been so long I can't think or hear anything except the blood pounding in my ears and all I can feel is the warmth of his lips on mine.

"Ray..." he moans into my mouth. "You are a drug, you know that?"

"You too, Ben," I whisper. "You too."

While I'm talking the incredibly efficient Mountie has unfastened both our jackets and then he kisses me again, moaning, those moans that drive me out of my mind. "I want to climb inside you, Ben," I mutter, kissing him back just as hard. At that he groans, shivers, and I know what he's thinking and then I feel my back against a wall as he kisses down my throat and back up again, his hands - how can they be so warm? - moving on my chest. All too soon he tears himself away, steps back, gulping.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, Ray."

"I know you just want me for my body, Ben," I tease him. And am taken aback by the look in his dilated eyes.

"God, yes, Ray," he whispers and pulls me to him again as if he can't help himself. "And your smile, and your energy, and your - your outlook on life - "

"Shut up and kiss me, Ben," I whisper. And reach out to kiss him, feel his lips again, his tongue dancing with mine.

It's the dogs whining that bring us to our senses. Even a Yukon-born Mountie isn't going to get it on in a freezing barn, but we both kind of forgot that for a few minutes.

"Maggie's coming," Fraser says, checking out her dogs, which are staring at the door. We reassemble some disarranged clothing, fasten our coats again, and look, I hope, pretty normal, by the time Maggie comes in. Fraser's starting to put his dogs in harness. I'm poking around by the generator. It doesn't look too bad. Wonder if we could get it going again, next time. And the thought of a next time thrills me more than anything else except maybe the thought of Ben's kisses. 'Cause now I know crazy is catching and I am starting to, hell, already do, love this place in spite of no TV, no modern conveniences, and endless cold.

"Good morning," Maggie says cheerfully. "How are they doing?"

"They're rockin'," I say, and she and Fraser share a glance of puzzlement. I just grin.

Maggie shrugs, and picks up the stake-out rope. Fraser leads his team out the door and stakes them out, twenty feet apart. Maggie appears in a few more minutes to do the same, and then we stand together, watching the dogs for a while.

"I was thinking pancakes, this morning," Fraser says finally.

"Sounds wonderful," I say. Maggie nods. She checks her team out and then we all head back to the cabin together. She doesn't have her snowshoes so Fraser carries her back despite her protests.

"I am a Mountie!" I hear her saying. He laughs.

"Yes, Maggie, I know. Allow me the indulgence of spoiling my little sister, please."

And I watch him stride along on the damn things with his hands full of water bottles and Maggie Mackenzie and I can't even go two steps without tripping and I think how he's in his element here. He seems complete.

The pancakes are great. Maggie makes them. The real maple syrup is different but it's not bad. The Canadian bacon... well, it's okay on pizza. Hard to get used to by itself. I'm starving though so I don't pay much attention.

Fraser washes the dishes while we sit around and chat. Maggie's telling us a little about her latest posting. I realise from things that she and Fraser are not having to explain to each other that they must write to each other. I didn't know that. I feel a little left out. Jealous of everybody 'cept the wolf, I think, and smile to myself.

After breakfast, we all go outside again. I can't stop looking at the snow. Fraser's right. It's not white. It's so many different colours, shades of blue and white and grey and green. They head to the barn to get Maggie's team set up. I start up a nearby ridge and sure enough by the time I get to the top Fraser's already on the sled. I know where I'm standing will give a good view of the whole area. Soon I see Maggie heading up towards me. She snowshoes as easily as her brother does. Perfect goddamn Mounties, I think.

We watch Fraser in silence as he dwindles to a speck, then disappears altogether.

"He needs this," Maggie says, almost to herself. I nod. Then I wonder if she's saying he needs this, not me, not Chicago. But I don't ask.

"How are you, Ray?" she asks, looking into my face.

I'm embarrassed. "Just fine," I say, looking away. "This whole wilderness thing isn't as bad as I thought."

She smiles at that. "You look happy," she says but doesn't seem to expect an answer. After a while she adds, "So does he."

Oh shit. She does know. I do not want to have this conversation.

"He deserves it," she says.

Now that I agree with. "Yeah, he does."

"It's strange, being his sister," Maggie says quietly. "I never thought I was particularly competitive. But I feel a little with him. And it's quite unnecessary as well as being fairly useless."

"He is, after all, perfect," I say, grinning.

She doesn't grin back. "Is he?"

"So are you, Maggie."

"Do you think so? I don't."

"Fraser doesn't think he's perfect either," I point out.

She stares out over the ridge into the distance. Without looking at me she says, "The worst part is having to compete... or knowing that there is no competition... that I never had a chance..."

What is she talking about? I turn to look at her. She looks away again.

"With you," she clarifies.

I'm stunned. I feel a sinking sensation in my gut. "Oh, God."

"I'm not saying I'm in love with you, Ray," she snaps. I guess that wasn't the most flattering reaction.

"I'm sorry-" I begin.

"Just that I... I might... could have been. Some day."

"I'm sorry," I say again. I feel helpless. "Maggie, you know there was an attraction. On my side, I mean. But..."

"Ben had the advantage of being on the spot. And, of course, being Ben." And incredibly, she smiles at me. I relax a little.

"He's hard to resist," I say.

"I can see that." She pauses a moment, and then says, "I'm glad you like it here. Make sure he spends more time here, Ray."

"Yeah," I say. "I already thought of that."

"Thank you," she says, and leans over to kiss me on the cheek. Her lips are soft and warm, just like Fraser's. I turn my head to meet her lips. No passion, just a kiss. After a moment she kind of sighs and pulls back. "Thank you," she says again, and stares fiercely out into the distance.

After a minute she gives herself a shake and says, "Let's try Fraser's team."

Oh, great. Now I get to be coached not only by Constable Perfect but also by Constable Perfect's Perfect Constable Sister.

But Maggie's surprisingly patient with me and I start to relax and listen to her. She doesn't talk as much as Fraser, but she makes sense. "Enunciate," she shouts into my ear.

"Why? They're not all deaf," I say. "And anyway they can't see my mouth."

For some reason she finds that so hilarious that she forgets to lean into the turn she just called and we tumble, me landing in a pile on top of her, both of us gasping for breath and laughing. "I'm sorry, Ray," she says breathlessly, sounding uncannily like her brother. "That was entirely my fault."

And for some strange reason I just grin at her and lean down to kiss her lightly on the lips. She goes very still all of the sudden and I think, _What the hell am I doing?_

I get off her in a hurry. "I'm sorry, Maggie." I can't look at her. "I'm not trying to tease you. I just like you, you know? And Fraser's got me in this habit of kissing every Mountie that happens by, I guess."

Her voice is quiet as she answers. "It must be difficult, Ray. I know you were married. And I know you love Ben. And I resemble him. It must be... strange."

"I am all over that!" Why the only person in the whole world who understands me is a whacked female Mountie in the godforsaken wilderness in Canada I do not know, but I'm so relieved that all my words spill from me in a rush. "I mean, yeah, fooled around in high school. A lot of guys do, doesn't mean much. And Stella. Wow. Stella was it. I thought. But when Ben kissed me that first time... it was even more intense than it had ever been with Stella. It blew my mind. And I just had to not think about the fact that, you know, he was a guy, and just had to think about how he made me feel, how he was my best friend..."

"With benefits," she says, that quirk in her eyebrow, just like Fraser's, and then smiles. Guess she likes some of the same music I do.

"Oh, yeah." And I lean over and hug her hard. She hugs back. 

"I didn't mean to interfere, please believe that, Ray."

"Hell, no, Maggie, I know that. It's me. It's me. Don't know who I am... what I am... any more. Just that I think - I know - Ben is it. And you... you look like him, you sound like him, you almost smell like him, and I ought to want you."

"But you don't," she says, matter of fact. "Let's get this team untangled." She heads up the line, pausing to switch two of the dogs. Coming back to the sled, she's talking as if I'd been listening the whole time. "...not exactly pulling his fair share, so if you put him closer to the sled, he has to do more work and it's also a sort of demotion and therefore discipline..."

She really is a whole lot like her brother, which is strange considering they've grown up without knowing each other. I know Fraser'd go into details about heredity and genes. I ought to ask him about it.

"They do better with Dief," I tell her, but of course Dief went with Fraser.

We get the team back together and continue the lesson. But we're back and have Fraser's team staked out before we see a speck that is Fraser getting larger again. "Thank goodness," she says. "I thought perhaps he was on his way to Nome."

As he gets closer we see something piled on the sled. A big something. A freakin' caribou.

Maggie's laughing so hard tears come to her eyes.

Fraser's calling to us, all excited. "Guess who I met," he's saying. "Tom. He insisted. I couldn't resist. Wasn't he generous? And Ray hasn't had caribou. You can take the rest with you, Maggie." Yeah, that's Fraser's world. Just happens across someone with an extra, presumably legal, fresh dead caribou in the middle of nowhere. I guess we're just lucky he didn't come across a maniacal killer or a poacher fishing over the limit. "Oh, Maggie, what a team! I'm downright jealous. I think you can do it!"

She's already down the slope. I'm slower, of course. By the time I get there they're disagreeing about skinning techniques. I turn and head for the cabin. City boy, all right. Don't want to see that.

I spend the afternoon digging out the woodpile. They spend much of the afternoon skinning and then cutting up Fraser's gift. Dogs are going to love the fresh meat, or so Fraser says. And we have caribou steaks for dinner, while Maggie and Fraser, and probably their dad, argue about the best ways of curing hides and making pemmican and so on.

Fraser settles it finally by saying, "It doesn't matter what I think, anyway, Maggie. It's your skin. I can't cure it in Chicago."

She laughs. "No, I suppose you can't."

After dinner we are settled down on our stomachs in front of the stove. I'm staring at the flames through the open door, and they are talking about smoking meat and more pemmican recipes, and I lean my head over onto Ben's shoulder, forgetting until I hear his sharp intake of breath. But Maggie smiles. "I think I can handle seeing you and Ray touch each other, Ben," she says calmly.

Fraser blushes red, starts to babble. "Of course, Maggie, I didn't think... that is, I didn't want..."

"Shut up, Fraser," I say, and put my head back down on his shoulder. It feels so damn good to just touch him, feel his body against mine. Later they're still on their stomachs, still talking - those Mounties never seem to run out of big words - and I've rolled over onto my back, resting my head on Ben's back while I read through some of my journal. I think I could live like this forever. And then I wonder what's wrong with me, and think of Chinese takeout, and pizza delivered to your door, and television, and...

Maggie gets to her feet and says she needs to wash her hair. I look at Fraser. He looks at me. We both look at her, our mouths open.

"I'm serious," she says with a grin. "It takes a long time to dry. I can't wash it in the morning."

And we watch in fascination as she gets pots of water, a towel, and shampoo.

She goes into the john to change into her robe and comes out, dunks her head into one of the pots, begins soaping. Fraser and I look at each other in confusion and then smile as we both shake our heads. He rolls over and I get my elbows under me just in time to keep myself from falling backwards onto the floor... and then I feel his hand, feather light under my hair, and I know that I wouldn't have. I close my eyes in happiness. And then feel Fraser's lips, also feather light, on mine. Very briefly and by the time I open my eyes he's up and heading towards the kitchen stove, mug in hand. Maggie's still in her pot, thank God. And I can't believe Fraser took that risk. I stare into the fire, my chin on my hands, and I don't dare look at Fraser when he rejoins me.

He's talking, normally, and I try to listen. "...the central chimney is undoubtedly large enough to put in a second wood stove, or perhaps a fireplace, for the addition."

Oh, yeah, he and Maggie were talking about an addition.

About time.

Wonder if we could get it done tonight.

"Sure," I say. And then he shifts his weight so that our heads are almost touching as we stare together into the fire. Maggie's still splashing behind us. In a breath in my ear Fraser says, "I love you, Ray."

I jerk and turn to look at him and his face is so close to mine, his eyes, his breath, his mouth, that I'm disoriented for a second and I lean into the kiss.

The splashing has stopped and the absence of sound is enough, thank God, to bring me back to my senses. It's a good thing, because Fraser's lost all of his sense. His eyes are closed, his beautiful lips are parted, warm, and soft, and I think I see his tongue moving inside.

"Oh, for God's sake, kiss him," Maggie says disgustedly, and I hear her pick up a pot of water and head to the door. With almost a growl Fraser agrees with her and leans further in, his hand going up to my head to cradle it, and he kisses me, so tenderly, so happily, so freely that I can't help responding. In the back of my head I hear Maggie come back and get the second pot and head back to the door.

"Jesus, Fraser!" I break free from Fraser and get to my feet. I brush past Maggie, her head in a towel, her eyes bright and her face flushed, and I grab my boots, my coat, pulling it on as I head out the door into the cold, blissfully cold, snow. And as I leave I hear Fraser say, "Oh, dear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... so, a little history here. Early, early dS fandom was a lot of het and gen. Fraser and Thatcher, Fraser and Frannie... One particularly awesome het fic involved Fraser and Frannie where Fraser'd had a child by Victoria that was being raised by his French, I think, grandmother, and someone - Victoria? Someone hired by Victoria? - shot him and he was in a wheelchair, but he recovered enough to dance with Frannie at their wedding, where he wore a kilt and she wore a hand-beaded dress that showed off her tiny waist. Yes, this was that story, where there were cinnamon crisps at the reception. Seriously, it was the best worst story ever. Her tiny waist was mentioned in every single _one_ of the 273 chapters.
> 
> Then slash started to make an appearance, much to the gen/het writers' dismay, so much so that there were some hard feelings and a bit of a war - and obviously the only pairing at the time was F/V. F/V slash mainly seemed to be divided into two camps, the incredibly romantic camp and the BDSM camp (Vecchio dom, Fraser sub for some reason). In the former, there was a lot of romance and gay pride parades and choosing curtains and everyone was gay; in the latter, there was a lot of BDSM and some torture and kidnapping and everyone was gay. Long story short, dS was a bipolar fandom in a lot of ways even _before_ Kowalski came along. 
> 
> So, anyway, when Kowalski came along - and when people started writing slash with Kowalski in it :D - there wasn't much of a model for everyday relationship kind of fic. A lot of what F/K fans were trying to figure out, in list discussion and in writing, was how to break somewhat new ground (and keep in mind that many of us who were new to F/K were also simultaneously new to (dS) fandom and/or to slash, and/or to writing, so we were probably reinventing the wheel weekly), including writing about the perceived homophobia of those surrounding Fraser and Kowalski in a somewhat more realistic fashion than "everyone's (un)happily gay!" or "everyone's ramrod straight" which had pretty much been the two choices up to then. 
> 
> Looking back, I can see I (along with several other writers) was affected by the "everyone was gay" motif that permeated F/V fic, and even somewhat by the gen/slash war that preceded the Ray Wars that included some homophobia. (For such a great show and fandom, dS seems to have been oddly prone to fan wars.) 
> 
> This is some of the context that's surrounding Fraser's and especially Ray's paranoia and confusion about Maggie, and I can see now that it's OTT. At the time, though, it wasn't particularly, as odd as that might seem, since we were trying to write what we perceived as realistic homophobia on the parts of some characters or fields of employment.
> 
> Upon further reflection, I _have_ thought of an F/V story that was realistic that was a good relationship model: it was one where Fraser and Vecchio were lovers and still in Chicago. I think it was by Elaine Walker (the then-archivist of Hexwood) and, perhaps, Mitch. Anyway, Fraser got pricked by a needle dumpster diving and I remember we were all, "Oh, wow, yes. That could happen." The story dealt with them dealing with not only being partners and lovers but also the possible fallout of that needle prick. Sadly, though, I don't remember the name of it.


	27. Chapter 27

Maggie joins me at the wood stove in her robe and pyjamas, combing out her hair.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I usually have myself under better control."

She smiles at that. "I know what it's like to be in love. I admit it's rather odd to see a man want to kiss another man, but the love is unmistakable, Ben."

"I don't want to cause you discomfort, Maggie. And quite frankly I find it hard to believe that I feel this way about another person again, let alone another man."

"But you do. And there's nothing intrinsically wrong with it," she says thoughtfully. "Just certain cultural mores and so on."

"It cannot, however, be comfortable to observe, Maggie. And I'm sorry. You have after all been raised with those same mores."

"I think Ray was the one who was uncomfortable. He was trying to protect me, Ben."

I sigh and roll over onto my back, staring at the ceiling. She's right, of course, and we will last all of five minutes in Chicago if I can't get myself under control.

"Ben."

"Yes, Maggie?"

"What are you waiting for?"

I look at her, startled, and she smiles at me and nods at the door.

"I thought he might need some time alone," I say, puzzled.

She shakes her head. "You're pretty green at this, Ben."

"Oh. Oh!"

"Don't forget your coat," she says, laughing.

~ ~ ~

It's amazing how many stars there are, up here. Hard to believe we're under the same sky that we can see from Chicago. I know Fraser would talk to me about the city glow, the atmosphere, and lots of other things but the real point is that there are a lot of stars out and they are big and close and beautiful. You can almost see them reflected in the snow. The snow is crusting over and is pretty easy to walk on now. I start up the ridge. There are some rocks there, usually not snow covered, good to sit against and look out over the valley. It's still and clear and as I climb I think I can feel the temperature becoming warmer. That inversion thing.

While I walk I try not to think of the cabin, of Maggie, of how stupid and rude Fraser and I are being to her. Don't wanna think about it. Especially after this afternoon. And at the same time I wanna kiss him, all over, suck him until he loses it completely and comes hard into my mouth and, God, I'm sitting in freezing snow and I don't even _feel_ it.

I hear snow crunching after a few minutes. Even Fraser can't walk silently on snow. Unless it's Maggie. But I listen harder and can tell it's Fraser by the way he walks. He's heading up the ridge towards me. He knows everything about me.

I'm scared. I don't want to face him, don't want to talk to him, I know I made Maggie even more uncomfortable by running out.

"Ray," he calls softly. And comes into my view, carrying his coat. What kind of nut carries a coat in this weather? Yeah, I know, the same nut who never closes his window in Chicago. The same guy who sounded disappointed today when he had to break the news to us that it was going to dip above freezing.

"Ray," he calls again. "If you want me to go away, I will. But if you want to talk..."

I sigh. Something inside me breaks in half and I feel a deep warm liquid start to fill me from my toes up. "Over here, Fraser," I call.

There is relief in his voice as he says, "Hello, Ray." And stands, uncomfortably, by my rock, looking down at me with that absurd, little boy innocent look.

"I'm sorry, Ray, about the kiss in the cabin. It won't happen again. I agree with you that it must make Maggie uncomfortable no matter how much she says it won't."

I'm left with nothing to say.

"Ray?"

"You left me with nothing to say," I say, and I smile up at him. With a kind of crunch he lands beside me in the snow and he's kissing the hell out of me... or is it me kissing the hell out of him? It's hard to believe that it's only been a day without this and I can't live without it. It's scary.

I push that down. Don't wanna think about tomorrow, about Chicago, about anything but Ben's lips, his tongue, his hand... his hand unbuttoning my pants...

"Ben, it's freezing out here!" I hiss.

He kisses me again and his warm hand's inside my jeans now, covering me, setting up a rhythm I'm only too familiar with. He's moaning those moans into my mouth and I'm returning them and I don't feel anything but his lips, his tongue, and his hand. And then he moves his head down to take the place of his hand and I can't believe this, the rock is digging into my back as his warm, wet mouth covers me and my hands tangle in his hair, and his tongue is licking me and I'm groaning his name and then I'm coming and I can't think of anything but the stars and Ben's eyes...

He carefully buttons my pants up, his hands shaking a little, as he reaches up to kiss me again, wrapping his coat around me.

"A little late for the coat, there, Fraser," I say, trying to tease him, knowing I sound too satisfied to be convincing.

"Oh, Ray," he breathes, "I'm-"

"If you say you're sorry again, I'm just gonna pop you, Ben. Fair warning."

"-happy. So happy. To be here, with you."

"Oh. Well, then. Me too, Ben."

And he reaches over to kiss me again, tenderly, gently, worrying my lips apart with his tongue. And it feels so good I don't care if I'm freezing my ass off and there are lumps on the rock sticking in my back. Then he falls backwards in the snow, pulling me on top of him. That's a _lot_ better. He's so warm, so sturdy, and I can feel his hardness against me. Without the cold snow to distract me, I can enjoy this a lot more. I kiss him hungrily, kiss his neck, bite his ear, stroke him through his jeans. He jumps at that, groans into my mouth, and suddenly I'm as nuts as he is, fumbling with his pants, trying to get inside, but my hands are freezing and I don't wanna do that to him. He senses it and suddenly pulls my hand up, puts my fingers in his mouth to warm them.

"Oh, _God_ , Ben." And I feel hot, so hot, and I reach down and stroke him while I almost straddle him, kissing him so deep I feel like I'm almost inside him. I don't want him to get cold but I gotta taste him, gotta make him lose control, and so I part his pants just enough to let the tip of his cock out. I keep stroking with my hand and lick and suck the top of him and hear his moans increase, look up to see his jaw clenched with the effort to keep the sound inside.

I stop and whisper, "Hey, Frase. There's not a moose for miles. Let it out, man." And I bend my head back down to the sound of his wild groan. Then I feel his cock get even bigger as it tenses and he tenses and a growl, a groan, so deep and loud it sounds as if it's torn from him, bounces off the trees as his cock lets loose into my hungry mouth. I take him all, my head bent up kind of awkward, watching him come... which is my favourite part of making love with Ben, his face when he comes, and then I say, "See, Ben, there you go, that's it."

He is still recovering but he hears that and the bliss on his face is suddenly combined with a grin as he tries to choke back a laugh. "It would serve you right," he says breathlessly, "if there was a bull moose around."

"Serve _you_ right, you crazy Mountie. What kind of nut gets it on in the snow, for Pete's sake?"

"But, Ray, you said you liked snow." His eyes are half closed and his smile is heartbreakingly beautiful.

"Well," I say gruffly, "it's got its good points." And I lean down to kiss him, his lips, his jaw, his perfect cheek, his perfect eyebrows... "Love you, Ben."

"And I you, Ray," he says, suddenly opening his eyes and looking right into mine.

"No doubt, Ben, no doubt," I say before leaning down to rest my head on his chest. After a while I say, "I like your world, Ben."

His arms tighten around me. "I like you in my world, Ray." We lay that way for a little while longer and I feel his chest rumble beneath me as he opens his mouth and begins to speak. "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if-"

I join in, quietly, thinking that _here_ is paradise on earth, a little cold, maybe, but it works for me, "-if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." His voice has trailed off until at the end I'm speaking alone and he's quiet underneath me in stunned surprise. "We're living, aren't we," I say softly.

"Is Thoreau required reading for the Great White North?" he asks.

"No, Ben, for the Great Red Mountie."

And he laughs at that, and hugs me hard, and I hug him back, until I remember he's lying in the snow and must be freezing, Mountie or no, because I'm still covered in his coat. I reach down and fasten his jeans, giving him a quick kiss on the mouth before I heave myself off him. "C'mon, Fraser, before we get pneumonia out here."

"Oh, Ray," he says, "I could stay here all night with you."

"It's cold out here, Fraser. You are insane, you know that?"

"I can build a fire," he offers innocently. I shake my head and give him my hand and he sighs and comes to his feet with the quick grace that is such a part of him, using my hand just to steady himself.

 _But the world outside's still raging_  
_You said, and I didn't know the way_  
_I want to sleep beneath the peaceful skies_  
_In my lover's bed_  
_With a wide open country in my eyes_  
_and these romantic dreams in my head_

"No Surrender," Bruce Springsteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the interesting dichotomies between F/V fic and F/K fic is the fact that most F/V fans envision Fraser staying in Chicago (this is a generalisation, remember, and I know it's not all), and many F/K fans seem to think - even if they don't write it - that Kowalski would go to Canada with Fraser. (Mmmm. Crysothemis' [True North](http://crys.mrks.org/fic/tn/truenorth.html)! I think, in fact, Crys may have the one to pioneer post-CotW fic.)
> 
> It's probably the effect of CotW and, before that, MotB; it's also, probably, that Vecchio seems to be an immutable part of Chicago, with deep roots, a _paterfamilias_ role, a life; and Kowalski is, by his own admission in BDtH, adrift when we meet him. One can argue that he wraps himself up in Fraser to an extent Vecchio didn't, and that this reflects what, apparently, his relationship with Stella was. But he also clearly wants a partnership, and doesn't want to be alone; and it's possible to write Fraser that way as well. Vecchio wants a partnership too, of course, but he's not 'alone' in the same sense that either Fraser or Kowalski is. (In fact, one could even argue that Victoria Metcalf was Fraser's desire for wanting to be "not alone" taken to one logical extreme.)
> 
> I don't know where I'm going with this. Just that I've always noticed that F/K writers have never seemed to wrestle much with the idea that Kowalski would happily go off to Canada. I [certainly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/259287) had/have [no problem](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8265347) [with the idea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8266016). Mmmyeah.


	28. Chapter 28

We spend the next day doing more of the same. About halfway through the afternoon I realise I haven't even had my watch on in days. I wonder if I know where it is. Fraser and Maggie and I all seem to get hungry at the same time. We eat. We go back out. Cut wood. Maggie and Fraser go out together with her team. I practise snowshoeing and take some more wood into the cabin. I could live like this. I start a stew. I've been watching Maggie, and there's plenty of caribou to use. I get my journal out and change CDs. Been on a Springsteen kick lately and need a change. I put on some Dolby, although I know how Fraser'd react to that. Worse than TV, probably, with a wince and a headache, if he'd ever admit to such a thing. And I grin at the thought of his face and settle down to write.

I've just gotten two or three pages written, doing more thinking than writing, and the CD's playing a song I've always associated with Fraser, when I hear the dogs barking in the distance, so I head to the door to see what's up. Fraser and Maggie are back and there's a snowmobile following them, far behind. Well, what the hell, we already got no privacy, what's one more person? I'm glad I made lots of stew. I put my boots and coat on and head to the barn to meet them.

The snowmobile is still on its way in when Maggie and Fraser get her dogs into the barn, and to my surprise, Fraser takes me around the corner and plants a quick one on me before doing anything at all with the dogs. He's cold and warm and smells like snow and sweat and Canada and I get one more kiss, a passionate one this time, before his conscience starts bothering him and he goes back around the corner to help Maggie. I compose myself for a few seconds and head to the dog food to start dishing it out. Maggie is carefully avoiding our eyes, trying not to laugh. She whispers something to Fraser that turns him bright red but makes him grin and hug her.

So I'm not surprised when she heads over to me with a mischievous look in her eyes. Try to head her off. "So where'd you go? Is Fraser going to do the Iditarod with you?"

That does stop her. She stops dead, shakes her head a little, and blinks. And looks so much like Fraser with that dumbfounded face that I wish I had a camera.

"Um, that's a possibility. Actually I was hoping that you and I could go out tomorrow, if I promise not to make any moves on you."

Mr. Bat Ears hears that and is involuntarily startled into glancing at us, forgetting his perfect manners.

"Gee, I dunno. You Mounties are pretty sneaky. And you always get your man."

"That's assuming the man is lost," she says, a little quieter, a smile in her voice. "I don't think you are."

Fraser relaxes, remembers his manners and starts talking to the dogs, who are now barking at the sound of the snowmobile.

"Who's that?"

"Eric," Fraser calls out the door at that moment. Maggie looks at me and shrugs. "So, about tomorrow? Because after that I have to head back. I only had a few days' leave."

"Yeah, Maggie, I'd love to. I need to learn more about these dogs and stuff. If Fraser wants to race and stuff."

The mischievous look is back in her eyes. "And, Ray... you don't need to hide in a corner to kiss him. I'm okay with it. I guess I spent too much time with the Inuit and not enough time with southern society while I was growing up."

"No, Maggie," I say. "I guess the truth is you have the same open mind and heart as your brother."

She blushes bright red and stammers something.

"And the same complexion," I say, cocking my head and looking at her critically. She recovers fast, gives my arm a little shove, and heads over to her lead dog to check his paws, still too embarrassed to talk. I wonder if that kind of frontal assault would work on my Mountie. Hmmm.

There's an influx of snow, the rest of Fraser's dogs, and, well, the only word for it is personality, as Fraser and this Eric guy come through the door. He's tall, taller than Fraser is. Hella good-looking. And, like Fraser, you can see the spirit shining out of his eyes. He looks like he could do just about anything, again like Fraser, and I can see there's a bond there. And I try not to be jealous. Ben said I was the only guy. I know that. And me and Ben, we connect too on a basic level. Well, more than basic, more than physical, I mean.

I don't know what I mean so I go over to meet Eric.

He sums me up for a while and says to Fraser, "Quinn told me."

Fraser looks at him with that little puzzled frown between his eyes. Then he seems to get it and raises an eyebrow and grins. "Interesting. Evidently he knew before I did."

Eric shrugs. "Sometimes you can be dense, Mountie."

I instantly feel a strong liking for this guy.

Maggie finishes checking her dogs' feet and joins us. "Dinner? I'm starving," she says.

"I got some stew on," I say.

They all look at me in surprise. I roll my eyes and stomp out of the barn. Mounties think they're the only ones who can do anything around here. Fraser catches up with me. "Thank you, Ray."

"Welcome."

"Ray, Ray, Ray-"

"What do you think, Fraser, I can't watch you and learn?"

He stops, stock still, and then grabs my hand and starts heading back towards the barn. Maggie averts her eyes with a grin as we go by and Eric just watches us curiously.

"Ooh, Mr. Tough Mountie," I say as he pulls us both inside and closes the door. The dogs look at us curiously. And Dief whines from the other side of the door. Fraser has to open it again to let him in. Then he closes it carefully and looks at me.

"What I think, Ray," he says, seeming to choose his words, "is that you like it here. And that surprises me. A lot. And that your stew is probably better than mine. And I'm not good at saying things like that, so I undoubtedly trample all over your feelings."

I cross my arms and lean back against the door. "You're doing pretty good so far. At trampling and at saying things."

He looks at me for a long moment.

"Well, Mountie?" I say.

"Stanley Raymond Kowalski, are you trying to provoke me?"

There's a thought. But I'm too mad to pursue it right now.

"Did you not listen when I told you I liked snow? When I told you I wanted to come up here? Do you think I've been sitting in there sulking for a week, Fraser? What's so goddamn hard about frying some meat and throwing some vegetables and some broth in a pot?"

"Actually, Ray, you'd be surprised-"

"Fraser. Focus. That is _not_ the point."

"What is the point, Ray?"

"The point is that you've been feeling guilty about dragging me up here, jumping my bones in the snow, probably, and that Eric guy's right, you _are_ dense. Didn't I tell you I liked your world? And then you think I can't make dinner?" I've still got my arms crossed. He starts to look defensive, turns halfway from me and then back again. "What am I, a guest?"

"I have not been feeling guilty about dragging you up here. I have been feeling excited, apprehensive, anticipatory, and finally, delirious with happiness, but not guilty. And I plan to jump your bones, as you say, in the snow again tonight. Or tomorrow. Or both." He's not smiling as he says that. He looks dead serious.

And somehow I can't stop the grin from breaking out across my face. But I stay leaned back, arms crossed tight.

He gets the message, doesn't move, although he smiles in response. "And I will eat every single bite of your stew tonight and, furthermore, I will expect you to make some more tomorrow."

"Nope, I'm going out with Maggie tomorrow to get my bones jumped in the snow by her. Have to take a rain check."

He hesitates, clearly dying to follow that trail, but looks at me again and sighs. "Then I'll make dinner tomorrow and whichever of us feels like it can make it the next night. Satisfied?"

"No, Frase." I uncross my arms and take three steps forward to pull him towards me for a kiss. A nice long kiss. "There. _Now_ I'm satisfied. For now."

He backs me up against the door again. "I'm not," he says in that husky sexy voice he gets. "I'm a long way from it." And kisses me again.

"What about dinner? And your guests, Frase?"

"Ray."

"Yeah, Frase?"

"Shut up."

"Make me."

After some serious groping we make our way back to the cabin. I know I got all flushed but if Maggie doesn't care, and Eric, then why should I? I have to talk to Fraser about these Canadians. Are they all like this? So accepting? Because if so, I never want to leave.

Maggie and Eric have found some mutual acquaintances to chat about and Maggie's getting those pan biscuits of hers off the stove while Eric sets the table as we come in. "Just in time," Maggie says, handing me the plate with the biscuits. Fraser goes to the stove and starts dishing up stew in the stack of bowls. He does his last of all and catching my eye, makes sure that I see it's filled almost to the brim. I grin at him.

We talk about Quinn over the stew, which is at least edible, with salt added, and the biscuits, which are more than edible, and pretty soon Eric and Fraser are playing "do you remember?" with Fraser, of course, doing the bulk of the talking. I gather Eric's a little older than Fraser, and a lot more reticent, if that's possible, but when he does speak it's usually a damned insightful observation that clicks another piece of the puzzle that's Fraser into place for me. I look at Maggie and she's enjoying this too, getting to know her brother in some kind of way that isn't just today and tomorrow.

When I think about it, there probably aren't a lot of people who can tell stories about Fraser, or who can get him to tell stories about himself. His dad, from what I can gather, just wasn't around much to have those stories, and his grandparents and mom are all dead. I bet Quinn has some good stories too and I hope we run across him again some time.

Later on Eric hands Fraser his guitar and uses a log to thump out some rhythms, and they do some chanting, some Inuit stuff or something, that puts weird thoughts in my head and stirs my blood. Pretty cool. I bet Eric's a shaman.

"The guitar is a nice touch," Eric says to Ben, finally, and I realise that Fraser was just making that up, playing along. Is there anything the guy can't do? And suddenly I try not to wonder what the hell it is he sees in me, after all.

It's getting late. Eric makes a crack, which I recognise not because I overhear it, but because I'm clued in to Fraser's reactions and I see him get defensive. Then Eric goes outside and Ben goes to the closet and pulls out his sleeping bag, the one he takes when he's on the road, or the sled, or whatever a Mountie calls it. The one that's good to 60 below, in American temperatures. He comes over to me and Maggie.

"My manhood has been called into question," he says. I do a double take but then realise pretty quick that Fraser has no idea what he just said in American. "We're sleeping out tonight."

"Chicago's made you soft, huh," Maggie says, clearly accepting this without a second thought.

"It definitely has. And Diefenbaker, you'll be sleeping out too," Fraser says. The wolf, sitting by the door, yips. Fraser gets a groundsheet from under the bed, hesitates, glances at me, glances at Maggie. Maggie grins and sits down. Fraser mutters something under his breath and says, "Good night, Maggie. Good night, Ray."

"No good night kiss?" Maggie asks sweetly. Fraser almost glares at her and then walks over to drop a kiss on her cheek. I'm trying not to laugh. Seeing which one can outstubborn the other.

"Night, Fraser," I say. "Sleep well. In the snow."

"Good night," Fraser says again, and leaves.

I look at Maggie. "He's pretty damn stubborn," I say.

"Yeah." She shakes her head. "I'm severely outclassed."

"Do you sleep out?" I ask her.

"Sometimes," she says.

"Think I'm gonna have to learn?" I ask.

"Quite possibly," she says, after thinking for a moment.

"Shit," I say. And we look at each other and start laughing at the same time.

"Put some music on, Ray, and we'll tell each other Ben stories," she says. "Well, actually, you'll have to tell me some Ben stories, because you know my only story."

So we get ready for bed and roll out the bedrolls, one on either side of the stove, and I put some Sarah on - figure she'll like that - and blow out the lanterns while she puts some more wood on the fire, and we start talking about Fraser. Almost a perfect ending to an evening, and we fall asleep still talking, just like Fraser and I've done before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eric. Finally.
> 
> I think it was Crys who recognised the song Ray's talking about: Flying North, by Thomas Dolby. Of course she did.


	29. Chapter 29

Eric is, as always, rather taciturn. He teases me, in his own way, about my softness in needing a ground sheet and a cold weather bag. Then we fall silent, watching the stars. From time to time Eric says something, imparts a small bit of information about his village, his family, his people. He expects nothing more from me than inquisitive or affirmative sounds, and it's relaxing to be able to do that again. I hadn't realised until now how much people talk, in Chicago, and how much I had missed the silence.

At last he turns the conversation to me.

"You need a sweat lodge," he says first.

This is a way to gauge many things. How long I am staying. When I plan to return. If the RCMP has forgiven me enough to allow me to be posted here again. And, as well, a way to tell me that he's missed me.

That's a good feeling.

"In the summer. We're planning an addition."

"Let me know." His whole family will be here to help. And I'll end up with a real sweat lodge, I can tell.

After a while he speaks again.

"You seem happy."

I'm startled into looking at him. "I am happy."

Another long silence. I am, in fact, dropping off to sleep, my nose cold but the rest of my body and indeed my senses exulting in this night, this feeling of being home, exulting even in the coldness of my nose, when he speaks again.

"You still fear love," he says, and rolls over, his back to me, a signal that he is finished talking.

I'm too tired to feel more than faintly resentful of and puzzled by those words and it's with a firm conviction that I'll tell him tomorrow how wrong he is that I drop off to sleep.


	30. Chapter 30

Maggie and I both sleep in next morning. I can tell by the sky when I wake up. She's still asleep, on her back on her bedroll, just like Fraser sleeps. I get up, go to the front window, pulling on my jeans. Fraser and Eric are already up; in fact, Fraser's rolling naked in the snow again and a few feet away, so's Eric. I go to get them towels. Not just the Mountie who's damn crazy. But I'm going to have to try that. These sink baths are for the birds.

Look back over to see Maggie watching me. "Heads up, " I say, "Incoming nudity."

She grins and dives under her pillow as the door opens and Fraser and Eric implode into the cabin with a lot of huffs and "brrr"'s. I hand them the towels and Fraser says, "Thank you, Ray." Eric grunts and smiles and then heads to the can with his knapsack. Fraser pulls on some boxers and a henley and says, "Okay, Maggie, you're safe," as he continues pulling on his jeans. She sticks her head out. "Thanks," Fraser says, grinning at her.

"No problem," she says, getting out of her bedroll. "We all slept in. Looks like oatmeal for breakfast."

"Ooh, ick," I say.

"Oh, crumbs," says Maggie, and then doubles over with laughter. Fraser and I look at each other.

Maggie shakes her head. "Ben, how could you grow up without television?"

Fraser shrugs. "I did."

"Well, you missed out."

"But he can quote _Paradise Lost_ from memory," I say.

"And that proves my point," Maggie says, putting the kettle on and a saucepan with water.

Eric comes out of the can and heads to the door to put his boots and coat on. "Got any pemmican, Maggie?"

I bet they only eat the stuff when there's an American around. It's a giant Canadian Northwest Territories practical joke. Who would eat pemmican for breakfast if they didn't have to? Maggie hands him a couple of pieces.

"Come on," he says to me, motioning with his head towards the door. Me? What's he want with me? Fraser looks at Eric and then at me and then goes to get out the tea. No help there.

I pull on my boots and coat and grab the water thermos for the dogs. Eric is already halfway to the barn. He's already feeding the dogs by the time I get there and I start melting snow for water for them.

Eric finishes and so do I and we watch the dogs for a few minutes.

"You are strong," he says finally. I look at him, puzzled. "Stronger than the Mountie."

"Uh, right. You been smoking something?"

"Not lately," he says, with a very attractive grin. "Stronger inside."

"You're more confusing than the Mountie, I'll say that for you. Fraser's one of the strongest people I know."

He doesn't answer that. We watch the dogs a little while longer.

"Like it here?" he says.

"Yeah."

"Coming back?"

"Hope so." Guess terseness is catching.

"Good."

Another silence. I don't know if I like it or it makes me nervous. Both, probably.

"It's not everything you think it is," he says in the longest sentence I've heard yet. "But it's better than Chicago."

I don't know what he's getting at. But he's right about that, I think. And then I remember Chinese takeout and shake my head to get some sense back into it. "Oatmeal should be ready," I say. "Come on."

"Hmm," he says. Now I know where Fraser gets it. But he does follow me back to the cabin, although he doesn't eat the oatmeal. I don't like oatmeal, but I don't like pemmican more, and I can tell it's a no-nonsense morning for Maggie, so I don't complain.

Fraser and I go out to get the wood together. Eric chops for a little while and I carry, and then he heads up the ridge to the east. I take over chopping and Fraser ferries some more wood into the cabin. "You need two axes, Fraser."

He grins at that, a faraway grin. "I have another somewhere. In the barn. It's probably rusty, though. That should be enough, Ray. Let's go get the dogs hitched up."

"Oh, are you allowed to touch Maggie's team?"

He grins at me. "We'll start with mine. I think Eric wants to go somewhere."

"What's wrong with the snowmobile?"

Fraser shrugs. He and Eric got some kind of wordless communication. But I'm not jealous. They're old friends. Or something. And I learned last night that Eric saved Ben's life with Gerrard. So I can't be jealous of him.

As soon as we get into the barn, though, it's obvious that hitching the dogs up was a clever Mountie ploy when I end up against the door again (smart thinking, there, too, Fraser, so we don't get taken completely unawares), his tongue in my mouth before I have a chance to do more than open it.

We're both pretty warm from the wood chopping and it doesn't take us long to ditch our coats and gloves to get closer to each other. He moans and grinds his groin against mine, making my own cock get even harder, straining against my jeans, trying to get to his cock, his mouth, anywhere but where it is.

"Even the damn snow is starting to sound good," I groan as he licks and then bites down my neck.

"Snow is probably a very good idea at this juncture," Fraser says, bringing me closer in a hug, his voice and his arms a little shaky. "I'm sorry, Ray. I tend to forget my physical reactions to you..."

"Are you saying you just can't help yourself? Heard that line before, Mountie."

He grins and leans down to kiss me, not passionate, just a good Fraser kiss, warm wet mouth, tongue barely flicking mine, lips moving softly against my own.

"Love you, Ben." Suddenly it seems important to remind him of that.

"I know, Ray." And he hugs me, and then holds me for a minute. I hold him too, feeling his physical presence like a benison to my body and my soul. Benison. Benton. Yeah. And I grin to myself.

"What?" He senses my changing mood.

It sounds pretty sappy and I'm a little embarrassed so I duck my head and mutter it into his shoulder.

"What?"

"I said, benison, Benton!"

"Oh, Ray."

He doesn't sound like he's laughing at me. I sneak a look. He's not. He's just looking at me, a half-smile on that perfect face.

"It's a nice pun too," he says finally. "Or it will be in deer season."

That gets a grin out of me, as he intended, and I can return his kiss with my balance back, more or less.

We hear Eric shouting, somewhat impatiently, "C'mon, Mountie!"

One last kiss, and we start sorting out Fraser's dogs, hitching up his team. Maggie joins us halfway through and starts hitching up her own. Fraser leaves, with one last squeeze of my hand, and I help Maggie finish hers.

Eric and Fraser are already a ways off when we finally get out there. Maggie's making me hitch them up, decide which ones to put where, and get them connected to the sled. I do pretty good, considering I don't know her dogs as well as I know Fraser's borrowed team. Good enough that all she says is "Ah," instead of "Hmmm."

She slings a pack onto the sled and follows it. She's letting me drive by myself?

"Let's go east," she says, and snaps her goggles in place. I snap mine in place too and yell to the dogs.

She's pretty quiet for an hour or two, mostly just giving me directions, a couple of times correcting the dogs when we hit terrain I don't know about. Finally she calls them to a halt and climbs out, stretching. I'm sweating and winded and even pemmican sounds good right now.

"You haven't been drinking," she says exasperatedly.

"Been concentrating too hard, Maggie," I say with a grin, before trying to swallow a quart of water at one gulp. Doesn't work, of course.

"You have to start looking at the terrain. It gives you clues. You can see from the shadows and the ridges where the snow will be softer and where it will be harder."

"I think you have to be born here to notice stuff like that," I say.

"No, Ray." She sounds a little tired. "There are people who race the Iditarod who come from places like Australia, you know."

"Lucky for me I'm not racing the Iditarod then," I say.

"You're doing well, considering you've never done this before. You have good balance and you're quick to react and to figure things out."

I don't know what to say. Thanks, I guess. "Thanks."

She pulls out some thermoses. Hot stew from last night, more pemmican, some biscuits.

"Much as I eat here, doesn't seem to fill me up," I say.

"You're burning quite a few more calories than you do in Chicago," she says, almost absently.

That's true. Working muscles I never knew I had, and those at least are filling out.

"You should eat more pemmican."

"Now, that, you have to be born here to appreciate, Maggie."

She smiles and then leans back against the sled, her eyes closing. She seems a little off today, a little more quiet than usual. Short-tempered. Wonder if it's me, or if it's me and Ben.

Silence for a while and then I see a tear roll down her cheek. "Maggie!"

"Sometimes I just miss him so much," she whispers. "Just someone to be with."

Yeah. Me and Ben. I know. Part of being with Ben is the 'with' part.

Without thinking twice I pull her into my arms for a hug. "Sneaky Mountie way of jumping my bones, there, Maggie."

That makes her laugh. I hoped it would.

"You got two brothers to be with now, too, Maggie."

She pulls back and looks at me, a small frown on her face. Just like her brother. "Is it permanent, Ray?"

"Howcome it's always the chick who wants to bring up the commitment thing?" I say, grinning so she knows I'm kidding.

She doesn't grin back. Just frowns.

I sigh. "I think so. For me. Never felt this way about anyone else, even Stella."

"I think it is for him, too," she says softly, the frown clearing. "That's good."

"You're not hearing any complaints from this corner, " I say, and get up, help her to her feet.

"Your turn," she says, pointing to the sled. "We are going to talk about terrain."

"Oh, joy," I say drily.

She grins at that and taps the sled. "Come on, Kowalski, we don't have all day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two axes, one rusty, is an inside joke from the Ray Wars. 
> 
> Due South fandom, in the beginning, revolved around mailing lists. There were mailing lists that were for discussion, for discussion and fiction posting, and for fiction posting only (e.g., allslash and its sister list, whose name I forget because I never posted to it that was for gen and het - nowadays it's funny to think that fandom had to divide up gen/het and slash but slash was kind of "out there" and I can't tell you how many times I heard people bemoan the fact that the slash writers generally tended to be better than the gen/het writers, but they just "didn't want to read that"... LOL). 
> 
> Posting fiction to mailing lists was a different deal: mailing lists were text only, no HTML, and had a size or character limit per post (I think you had to keep each post under 5K, which is why you find so many stories measured by "K" instead of words or pages in those times), so you had to divide your work into chunks and denote italics with *asterisks* and thoughts with // and so on. 
> 
> There were fairly rigid subject heading requirements (e.g., making sure you listed the title, the pairing, the rating, and the part X of Y) because most people were on either single email or digest and most email programs didn't thread emails at the time, so subject headers were key to following either stories or discussions. It was time consuming but kind of fun. It could take you all day to prep and format to post a long story. 
> 
> The fun part of mailing lists was that you never knew what was going to drop in your inbox at any given time: some mornings you'd get up and there'd be a new Viridian story, or LaT would have posted, or even Te (I remember that's the first time I read Golden, when it came across a mailing list). Or Crys or Kellie, who wrote longer things, would start posting pieces and that meant you had a lot to look forward to over the next day or two, or week or two. Of course, this was also why a lot of writers had/needed websites and why Hexwood was so, so _fucking_ important to us. Sometimes it was just easier to post a link to a longer piece. I'm pretty sure, for instance, that I never even tried to post NWH in its entirety to any list, just links, although I did pull out PWPs from time to time and post those.
> 
> Plus, the discussion format of the single email was also intoxicating. If everyone was online at more or less the same time (and many of us were in North America and able to be active during the day), you could have a real time conversation with many different people without finding an IRC channel or an IM client or what have you, and the conversation could and did go in lots of different directions. 
> 
> Anyway, so, the inside joke. The main slash list when I came into the fandom was The Closet, and it was peopled largely, as one might expect, by F/V fans. But it was a fun place to hang out, and they had a weekly IRC chat that was also a great place to hang out and get help with sex scenes, find and offer betas, and so on. At that time many of the denizens were more or less okay with Kowalski, but it was before the Ray Wars had really gotten underway. 
> 
> As the Ray Wars intensified, the Kowalski people started feeling a little bruised, because even praising Kowalski as a good cop would be taken personally by Vecchio fans, who felt that if you weren't also praising Vecchio as a good cop at the same time, you were dissing him. [For a real time example of this, check out the anonymous RayV troll who's been posting on my back catalog; this is exactly the kind of mindset that Kowalski fans were dealing with.] Anyway, admittedly, some of us (me, certainly) wanted to compare and contrast Vecchio as cop to Kowalski as cop, and - especially if you were talking about Eclipse or Dead Guy Running, or The Deal or JiB - there were _conversations_ to be had on the topic. 
> 
> So Blarney started up an F/K list, Serge, and most F/K fans went over there. We still had skirmishes there but largely it was a place where you could talk about S3/4 episodes and how hot CKR was and when F and K had gotten together. (Sadly the F/K fandom splintered when a psycho basically took over Serge, and since she had arranged travel to Toronto for a group of F/K fans, Blarney was afraid to tick her off, so a group of us went off to start, first, a private list, MRKS - Militant RayK Separatists, which is what the F/V people accused us of being, so we adopted their nomenclature proudly and ran with it) - and then the public list Serge Asylum, usually known as Asylum.) 
> 
> So _then_ some F/V fans went off and created _their_ own F/V list, Two Axes (from Fraser's line in Letting Go where he says, "I have two axes, Ray"). The F/V fans adopted that line as a metaphor for the F/V relationship, and it's a great one. So the inside joke here was that one of the axes had gotten rusty.


	31. Chapter 31

As the time to leave approaches, I grow increasingly impatient. Neither of us wants to talk about what we know we must: Chicago, Ray Vecchio, the amorphous, uncertain future. I try to outline some of the choices that I feel we have, that we must make: tell Ray Vecchio because he will find out; or have me transfer out, see each other on weekends. Ray is happy with neither option. He is less happy with the transfer option.

"I didn't go through all this so I could only see you once in a while," he says. "I want to wake up with you every morning, Ben, you know?"

However, he knows I am convinced that Ray Vecchio will not understand, will never understand, and he doesn't want to be responsible for the loss of yet another person from my life. He tells me this at three in the morning, and he's trying hard not to cry, not to let me see the wetness in his eyes. We have been camping out on my bedroll by the wood stove, which is about the best place to divest oneself of clothing in this climate.

So I bring up the Ottawa option again, and see panic in his eyes. Suddenly he blurts out, "You know, Vecchio already knows how I feel about you, so you going to Ottawa isn't going to change that.

"What?" I ask, and know I sound sharp.

He shifts uncomfortably.

"When he confronted me, that time. I told him I had feelings for you. And that I didn't want to, and I was straight, and I would leave you alone, and deal. So he already knows about me."

This is worse than I had suspected. Ray Vecchio holds Ray Kowalski's future in the palm of his hand. And then I think that perhaps he doesn't realise it. But might, if we confess to him, reveal it in a fit of anger. Or perhaps the thought won't even cross his mind. As I said, he is quite warm hearted. But his time undercover has changed him, given him a hard edge that he didn't have before. I sink my head into my hands, not wanting to think about the future, but knowing I must, knowing I must somehow save Ray from disaster, from ruin, from the consequences of loving me.

Ray stares into the fire in the wood stove. He often leaves the door open so that he can. I stare at my hands. They seem like such capable hands. But I can't think my way out of this. All I can think of is Ray, staring with his blue eyes into the fire in my cabin. I look up at him again and see something wet and shiny on his cheek and I'm taken aback.

"Ray, Ray, Ray," I say softly. "I'm sorry. I'm worried about you. I think you handled that well. I didn't realise that he knew that much, and I wasn't taking that into account."

"Fraser," he begins, "don't talk about Ottawa. About leaving me," and then stops. He sounds tired.

I wait, listening. After a moment he continues.

"I never gave much thought to - to homosexuals. Just thought they were weird, you know. And thought that a lot of 'em do stupid things, stupider than straight guys. Well, mostly."

"In point of fact that's probably an accurate perception, Ray. Statistically we encounter, in our jobs, an age range of 18 to 30, coupled with male hormones, which together can make risk-taking a way of life and-"

"Fraser. I'm trying to say something here."

"Sorry, Ray," I say.

"But y'know, I've never actually, like, hated 'em or anything. Just couldn't understand why. Why they had the feelings they did. And figured probably that they couldn't understand why I had the feelings I did for Stella. And I don't know why so many people just hate them - us, I guess - for being."

His voice trails off to an embarrassed close.

I had never expected to have this conversation. I should have done so. Ray says what he's thinking. And he trusts me implicitly.

"I admit to having similar thoughts," I say. "On the other hand, Ray, I don't consider myself to be a practising homosexual."

I see the pain and shock in his eyes at the perceived rejection.

"Ray," I say softly. "I love you. I would love you if you were female and named Elise. What I meant was that I am not drawn to men, in general." Or women, either, for the most part, but there's no point in bringing that up at this juncture. "Just one particular man."

I see relief on his face, and something more. Excitement. "Yeah, that makes sense, Fraser! Me either! I mean I've always been attracted to women, not guys!" He breathes a huge sigh. "But us... it's kind of like it doesn't matter. For me, anyhow." He motions with his hand towards his chest. "Souls or somethin', I dunno."

And I know what he's trying to say and I am touched and delighted and excited and my breath suddenly becomes faster, shallower. I can't speak for the emotions that have welled up in my throat. I finally manage a fairly innocuous, not to say lame, "Me too." And reflect that my grammar is deteriorating.

And then he adds, "And I think it's for keeps, Ben."

And there's a fountain inside me of happiness, bubbling and sparkling with joy.

"Me too," I breathe quietly.

"So don't talk about transferring to Wet Otter or wherever to get away from me, " he says gruffly.

That brings me back to earth with a thump.

"Ray, I don't want to be a wet blanket, but I won't, at least I hope I won't, be attached to the Consulate forever."

"Then I'll go with you," he says simply.

"To Canada? What will you do?"

"Whatever I have to. Fix snowmobiles." He looks at me, calmly, his jaw set. "I already told you, for keeps, Ben."

I try to ignore the shiver of delight that statement sends up my spine. "Ray. If you think for one second I would let you sacrifice your career, all of your hard work, all of that just to follow me around Canada on a dog sled..."

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Hey, we're partners. And I can't be a partner without you. Don't want to be. I can be a cop without you. But I can't be me without you." He studies me for a moment, unblinking, solemn. "Besides, Ben, you belong here. Not in Chicago. Dief belongs here. Being here is so different from there. I don't know how you did it."

"I had Diefenbaker. I had Ray Vecchio. And I had you," I say.

He snorts. "Yeah, well, you c'n keep Vecchio."

"I hadn't realised that you were thinking so much about this."

"Yeah, well, you're not the only one who can make plans," he says, a little sulkily.

"Evidently," I concur. And realise it is an excellent lesson for me. I am not in this alone. I have no right to all the decisions. In fact, some of the decisions are not in my hands.

I should feel powerless, panicked at the loss of control that I know I need.

Oddly I feel delighted.

 _We made a promise we swore we'd always remember_  
_No retreat, believe me, no surrender_  
_Blood brothers in the stormy night with a vow to defend_  
_No retreat, believe me, no surrender_  
"No Surrender," Bruce Springsteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea that I'd love you across time and gender is, I think, problematic in today's fandom culture. But at the time, this was one of the things I got the most feedback on, and one of the things that resonated the most with many readers. 
> 
> I think that's in part because, as I mentioned previously, F/K dS fandom was a first fandom for many of us, and/or it was the first time we were writing slash in a fandom even if we'd been in another fandom before, and so we were inventing the wheel in so many ways it's daunting to consider in retrospect. 
> 
> We had some authors among us who knew the mechanics of M/M sex, thank God - I think Kellie Matthews had posted [The Catch](http://kellie.mrks.org/fic/ds/catch.html) to Hexwood right about the time I came into fandom or maybe right about the time I started writing in the fandom, and _that_ was an amazing story and a real eye-opener (God, the description of Ray's bare feet with the BDU ties trailing across them still gets me in the gut) - but a lot of us didn't, and we were feeling our way through very, very many things at this time: heteronormative culture, the very idea of fandom (I used my real name and location on Serge for a year before I realised how stupid that was!), slash, explicit M/M sex, and countless other ideas, and all of it somewhat complicated by the Ray Wars in the background and the M/M sex that had come before/was prevalent in the F/V side of the fandom (as I mentioned before, a lot of it seemed to be either curtainfic where literally everyone was happily gay, or BDSM fic, where everyone was gay, happily or un; one author wrote nothing but death stories, and I swear to God I read those just because they were something different!). 
> 
> But fortunately we had each other to lean on and learn from, and Serge and Asylum could always be counted on for some healthy discussions and different points of view. I also remember reading an early AU before I really knew what an AU was that was premised on the idea that Kowalski took the transfer in MotB. It was a kind of a "this is your life" that was a bloody and tragic multiple-death story. I never found it again, sadly (it was very well done); now I see that it was a model for me in how I conceived and enjoyed canon as a jumping off point for fanfic, no matter where it took me.
> 
> The third part is [Near Wild Heaven](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8343511).


End file.
